


Give in to the Night

by firefright



Series: 100 Prompts [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Bruce is a God, Dubious Consent, Human Sacrifice, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a no-name street rat, Jason thought he was safe from being chosen by the priesthood of Gotham as a sacrifice for their deity, the Dark Knight. But the city's corruption runs deep, and now - after being forced to take the place of the noble boy whose name was rightfully drawn - he's about to come face to face with the truth of the god who protects the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fic I'm working on as a fill for my H/C bingo card this year (because I don't already have enough challenges to work on), based off the prompt 'sacrifice'. 
> 
> Full warnings for underage here, as Jason is 16ish, and dub-con. Those warnings won't come into effect until the next part, but certain things are implied in this chapter as a forewarning.

They come for him in the night, when he lies curled up and sleeping in an empty room of an empty house in one of the abandoned sections of the city. A place most locals fear to tread, on account of the rumours of it being haunted.

It’s a haven for orphans and outcasts. Kids like Jason, who chose this place to sleep because he’s safer here than anywhere else, away from the larger gatherings of people who could be far more dangerous to his well being than any ghost. Out of the reach of the City Watch who would chase him from any well-to-do doorway he settled into, and worse, those who would seize the opportunity to drag him off to the slave markets as an easy sell because he still has all his teeth and relatively unmarred skin for a boy who’s spent most of his life fighting for survival on the streets of Gotham. Jason’s seen it happen to others before, lost track of how many boys and girls were there one day and then gone the next, swallowed up by the corruption at the heart of the city to never be heard from again.

That’s why he treks out here each night to sleep, even though it means a long run back every morning because the best opportunities for thieving and picking up a little courier work are all in the sprawling market district near the city centre. That’s why he sleeps with a knife in his hand, curled up around what meagre possessions he owns, alone except for the rats and insects creeping around in the walls. Here, hidden in this crumbling ruin, he thinks he’s ready for whatever petty crook or kidnapper may come his way looking for an easy score.

What Jason’s not ready for is an organised squad of armoured men breaking into his hole in the wall in the dead of night, grabbing him up from the corner out of the pile of blankets he’s sleeping in, then binding his wrists behind his back and shoving a stiff piece of cloth into his mouth to gag him so that none of his fellow street rats will hear his cries for help - not that they’d come to assist him anyway, it’s every man for himself out here in the dregs.

He fights of course. There’s no way that Jason would ever go down easy, but even though he manages to gouge a hole in one man’s arm with his knife it does little to stop the other three from pinning him down. They grab his wrist, twisting it so hard that tears spring to his eyes and Jason really, honestly, thinks they’re going to break the bone before he loses his grip on the weapon and they relent. There’s no chance for him to argue or plead, and his kicks - well aimed as they are - do little against the plate armour the men wear as he’s dragged out of his hovel and into a waiting carriage on the cobbled street outside.

Once Jason’s inside they bind his legs also, since he won’t stop kicking in his struggles. One man lifts up a fist, made heavy with leather and mail, and makes to strike Jason across his face in punishment before his companion grabs his wrist to stop him. “Don’t.” That one hisses quietly, but not low enough that Jason can’t make out his words. The slightly better quality of his gear makes Jason think that he might be the captain. “They won’t accept him if he’s marked up, you idiot.”

The words go a long way to convincing Jason that he’s bound for the slave markets, especially when the man who was about to hit him snarls wordlessly and withdraws his fist, sinking back into his seat with crossed arms. What he can’t work out is why these men appear so well armoured, as if they work for the Watch or one of the great houses instead of one of the many local gangs. They wear no official insignia that he can see and they’re definitely not slavers themselves, so if that is the case they must be intending to sell him on to one.

Maybe they’re in debt. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Jason’s heard of men who’ve lost too much coin on the whorehouses and fighting pits resorting to such means to save themselves from gaol. 

The rope around his wrists is bound so tight that attempting to work his hands free of it is sure to come to naught, but that doesn’t stop Jason from trying as the carriage lurches into motion. The journey lasts for what feels like more than an hour, and except for the creaking of the carriage and the sounds of the horse’s hoof beats against the cobbled streets it passes in silence, with not a single word more exchanged between his captors; meaning Jason has no clue at all where they’re going beyond his own initial suspicion that they intend to sell him. What windows are in the carriage are small, barred and completely impossible to see through from where Jason has been left lying on the floor. By the time it stops - with a sudden jolt he’s in no way prepared for - his jaw aches from the gag, now soaked completely through with his spit, and he can barely feel his hands and feet anymore because of how tightly the men have lashed them together.

The door opens, and Jason has barely a moment to react before he’s seized roughly under his armpits by a pair of hands from outside. One of those who sat with him during the ride lifts him up by his ankles, and together they ensure that Jason doesn’t fall as he’s dragged out of the carriage and onto a dark street that he doesn’t immediately recognise. At least not until he sees the familiar outline of the building looming above it.

Jason’s eyes widen at the sight of the city temple. He’s never been so close to the building before, only looked upon it from a distance since it sits up at the wealthy western end of the city and beyond a gate where no street rat could ever hope to go. Under the light of the sun it had appeared a dreary building, squat and ugly, but the night has turned its blunt black facade into an imposing fortress, with only a single pair of flaming torches placed on either side of the dark cavernous doorway to show that anyone occupies the spaces within.

It’s the temple of the Bat-God. The Dark Knight. Of course the priests prefer it to be enshrouded in darkness.

His feet are set to the ground, then one of the soldiers kneels down to cut the rope binding Jason’s ankles together so that he can walk with them himself instead of being carried. He tries to break that man’s nose with his foot as soon as it’s free, but a sudden burst of maddening sensation rushes through his legs at the removal of his restraints, causing them to buckle under him instead. His captor gives Jason a light thump to his ribs in retribution for the failed attempt before he’s dragged forwards again to the temple doors, stumbling as the blood continues to rush back into his feet.

Two men are waiting for them there, and one woman. The elder of the two men is clearly a priest, garbed in heavy black robes that trail at his feet like shadows, but the other is well dressed in fine woollen cloth with a heavy hooded cloak pulled low over his face to hide his features, matching the woman beside him. By their clothes alone Jason would bet that the pair are noble folk and the ones responsible for him being brought here tonight.

“Will he do?” The woman asks in a crisp and cultured accent, confirming his suspicions as Jason is hauled up, then held still for the priest to regard him. Her voice is as cold as the winter winds currently blowing through the city and she doesn’t spare even a single glance Jason’s way, unlike the man at her side, who peers out at him from under his hood with a guilty downwards turn twisting his lips.

The priest steps forwards: a thin man, made almost skeletal with age, with a long grey beard and rheumy eyes that track up and down Jason like he’s a prize cow at a farmers market rather than an actual person. 

“He’s whole?”

The woman looks to the soldiers who captured Jason, and the one, the captain who stopped him from being struck back in the carriage, steps forwards and nods. “Yes, your Holiness. My Lady.”

“And pure?”

They hesitate on that question, and Jason would laugh at the insinuation were the situation not so serious. Instead he narrows his eyes, a sick idea starting to take root in the pit of his stomach as the priest shakes his head at the lack of response, looking exasperated. “No matter. He’ll do regardless. The surrogate is accepted. Now, the tribute?”

He holds out a veiny withered hand. From the depths of the noble man’s cloak a small leather purse is produced and handed over. Jason doesn’t need the gentle clink of metal from inside to tell him that it’s full of gold. He snarls behind his gag, trying to jerk free of the hands still holding him to no avail.

The priest snaps his fingers as he tucks the gold away inside his robes, and from the darkness behind him two more armoured men appear, this time wearing the distinctive black armour that belongs only to the temple guard. It’s jagged, sharp, with spikes reaching out from the gauntlets and the symbol of the bat cut deep into the chest plate. The upper halves of the guard’s faces are completely concealed beneath their helmets as they come forwards and take Jason in hand from the ones who kidnapped him in the first place.

“Thank you, dear Lord and Lady, for your gift of sacrifice this eve.” The priest says then, in a bored tone completely unsuited for giving such a benediction, “Go now with the blessings of the Dark Knight upon you, your contribution to the continued life of our great city will not be forgotten.”

The woman nods sharply. She turns to leave at once, heading for the carriage that brought Jason here with her soldiers in tow, but the man hesitates, sparing another glance Jason’s way before asking, “And our son, he’s safe now? He -”

“The surrogate is accepted.” The priest says again, this time with a warning tone to his voice. Taking the hint the noble hurries away to join the woman (presumably his wife) alongside their guards. Soon their carriage is clattering away back down the street from whence it came, leaving Jason entirely alone to the mercies of the priest and his men.

He stiffens as the old man turns his attentions back to him, his breath stinking like spoiled milk when it washes across Jason’s face. Yellowed nails dig into the skin of his chin as his head is turned this way and that, the priest looking over his appearance more closely with a distinct leer in his eyes now that they’re alone. “Yes, you’ll do.”

Jason growls through the gag, trying to jerk free of the guards so he can nut the old fucker in the face without success. In punishment an armoured hand strikes him about the head hard enough to make him see stars.

The priest doesn’t even bat an eyelid. Apparently it’s all right if they leave marks on him so long as they can be hidden by his hair. “Take him inside and put him in a cell. Tomorrow he must be cleaned up and made ready for sundown. We’ve already delayed the sacrifice enough because of this foolishness, and to wait any longer will invite the Dark Knight’s wrath upon us all.”

Behind his gag Jason chokes, whatever hope he had of coming out of this in one piece fades away as he’s dragged through the doorway into the temple’s dark interior. His suspicion from earlier now seems a certainty, and by god, he’d heard the rumours, even believed them, he’d just never thought it would happen to _him_.

Every ten years a youth - a boy between the ages of thirteen and eighteen - was chosen by lottery to be sacrificed to the god worshipped by the denizens of Gotham City. The Bat, the Shadow, the Dark Knight. By doing this the people believed that the fortune and safety of their homeland was secured, against threats from both within and without. It had been so since the first days when Gotham was founded, and it was said that only once had the tradition been broken: when the chosen child had been spirited away by his loving parents in the night, cursing the city to a decade of misfortune as a result.

(It was still taboo to speak about that dark time; about plague and terror, of mad men ruling the streets until another boy stepped up to the plate, casting himself into the Knight’s arms of his own free will to save the city.)

Jason had always thought the story of the Bat bullshit. He’d never seen any evidence to make him believe it, but the old tales of noble parents who bribed the priests to save the lives of their own sons at the expense of peasant boys no one would miss? Those were ones he believed readily. The rich always prospered at the expense of the poor, and now some entitled brat in a mansion somewhere was going to get to go on living his sheltered little life, probably completely unaware of the narrow escape he’d had while Jason died in his place

Furiously he screams behind his gag as he’s pulled through the hallways of the temple, struggling and kicking the entire way. The interior walls turn out to be carved entirely of black marble, different from the grey stone outside, and they soak up what little light there is that manages to escape from the flaming torches placed sparsely apart at every intersection. The guards must have the path memorised, because even though Jason does his best to keep track of where they’re going - on the off-chance he might have the opportunity to attempt an escape later - he’s hopelessly lost within minutes. Even a rabbit warren would not be so confusing to navigate as this place.

At the end of the final hallway they take him down is a great door, made of - black of course - wood, with the familiar bat sigil carved into it. One of the guards produces a heavy iron key and twists it into the lock before opening the door and shoving Jason roughly forwards into the cell beyond. He falls to his knees painfully on the flagstones, twisting himself around just in time to see the door being pulled shut and locked again behind him.

The bastards could have at least removed his gag before they left him in here.

With the door shut it’s pitch black inside the room. There are no torches or windows inside, and Jason shivers at the tangible presence of the darkness around him, though he doubts he has anything to fear in here, not when they need him alive and whole for later. But that knowledge doesn’t stop him from shaking now as he moves slowly forwards on his knees, searching for a wall to place his back against while he waits for morning. Or afternoon. The priesthood here is a nocturnal one, with all their services held in the evenings. At least the solid presence of stone against his spine makes him feel a little better, though the pain in his shoulders and jaw from being bound runs rife through his strained muscles no matter how much he tries to relax them.

Jason closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the cool wall. He can’t believe this is happening to him, not after so many years of managing to escape the worst the city had to throw his way. This is not the way he thought he would die. Will not be the way he dies if he can help it. But right now? Looking into the empty darkness surrounding him it’s hard to have hope of anything else.

 

*

 

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Jason finds himself dragged roughly from his cell, hauled out by the scruff of his neck by the same pair of guards as before and marched down to another chamber deep within the temple. 

Hours of being in complete darkness have left his eyes weak, and they water even in the pale flickering candlelight they use to light this room. Jason has to blink rapidly to try and clear them as the gag is finally pulled from his mouth and the rope cut from his wrists. The guards rely on brute force to hold him down on his knees so a temple acolyte - identifiable by his grey robes rather than the black the senior priests wear - can cut Jason’s shirt and trousers from him with a pair of silver scissors, casting them away as rags to one side when he’s done.

Jason takes the opportunity to curse them then, as best he can with an aching jaw and sore throat. He uses every filthy word and insult he knows, but none of the men around him bat so much as an eyelid. They ignore the sound of his voice completely as another acolyte enters the room through a second doorway, carrying a pail of steaming water in each hand. He sets the buckets down in the middle of the chamber, next to a thick square pillar of black stone so dark that it’s almost indistinguishable from the wall behind it to Jason’s strained eyesight. 

Jason swallows hard as he’s pulled back up to his feet and forwards again.

There are manacles bolted into the stone at the top and bottom of the pillar. Manacles that, judging by the rusted look of them, have been there a very long time indeed. He’s helpless to stop his back from being pressed against the pillar as his hands and feet are buckled into the restraints; tight enough that he can feel the metal digging into the flesh of his wrists and ankles.

Strung up like this, it’s all Jason can do to flinch back as the acolytes move in. They dip rough clothes into one of the pails of water by his feet, then scrub soap into what feels like every crack and crevice of his body; even between his legs. It’s utterly humiliating to be cleaned this way; in the same manner as a stable hand would rub down a fine horse at his master’s command with no care for its comfort. No, scratch that, even a horse probably has more dignity than Jason does in this moment, and his cheeks are burning with fury by the time the second pail of water is lifted and dumped over his head, rinsing the suds from his skin and hair and leaving him clean and shaking from the violation.

Perhaps Jason should be grateful that the water was warm at least, but mostly he’s just focused on trying to sink his teeth into any part of his captors he can reach, as well as insulting their bloodlines all the way back to the creation even though his voice rasps and weakens with every word.

An equally rough drying off follows the washing, before Jason’s ankles are released from the manacles so that his legs can be forcefully threaded, one by one, into a pair of loose black breeches. They might be the softest and most comfortable garment he’s ever worn his life, which only serves to piss him off more; it’s a ridiculous waste it is to dress him in silk considering where he’s going.

They fasten his legs back into the restraints as the first acolyte approaches him again, this time holding out a fat brush dipped in dripping black paint. As he comes closer the guards use their weight to pin Jason in place, pushing their thighs in against his to make sure that he can’t move even an inch in any direction as the bristles come into contact with his skin.

It’s impossible for Jason not to shiver as the brush draws thick sweeping lines across his chest. The acolyte goes slow, brow creased in concentration as he paints the symbol of the Bat onto Jason: the expanse of its wings stretching out between his nipples and the tips of its ears touching his collarbones. If only he could work up the saliva to do so, Jason would spit in the man’s face, but he hasn’t had anything to drink since he laid down to sleep the night before and now his mouth is a dry well, worn sore by first the gag and now his endless cursing.

But even this is not the end of the indignities he’s forced to suffer. When the bat is finished, kohl is smudged across his eyelids and a silver chain with prayer runes carved into each separate link draped around his neck. And all Jason can think of after it’s put on is that when they throw him down into that cave there will be a hundred skeletons waiting there for him at the bottom; a hundred dead boys with rotted silk breeches and silver chains wrapped around their bony necks.

If there was anything in his stomach to throw up Jason would do it now, and by the time they drag him back out to the front of the temple he’s shaking in his chains because his traitorous mind won’t let him forget that horrifying image.

He knows what comes next: the procession through the streets. Jason vaguely remembers it from the last time it happened. He’d been just a small thing then, somewhere between the ages of five and six, but the sound of beating drums had permanently lodged itself in his mind that day, as had the vision of the boy being driven through the city atop a heavy wagon, swaying with dull defeated eyes as he was pulled to his fate. He hadn’t understood fully what was happening, not until his mother had taken him aside and explained it to him, as matter of factly as she could. She’d told Jason it was great honour and service the boy did for them, giving his life so they could prosper, but when they want back to their hovel that night - eating hard black bread and broth so thin it didn’t deserve the name - even then Jason had thought it was bullshit. Whatever the sacrifice accomplished, it did people like him and his mother no good at all.

Before Jason can be forced out of the doorway to the courtyard beyond the same priest as last night steps into his path, approaching him with a steaming cup in hand. It occurs to Jason that he might actually be the head priest here, the Abbot, and if that’s true, if the leader of the order is taking bribes, then how fucked are the rest of the clergy? Smothering a wheezing cough into his sleeve, the priest holds the cup up to Jason’s mouth, “Drink this.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t be foolish, child, this is a gift. It will make it easier on you if you -”

“I said fuck you!” Jason explodes, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence as he attempts to shout. Whatever’s in that cup is not water, he’d bet what remains of his life on it. No way in hell is he going to let them drug him so that he’ll go quietly to his death.

The old man narrows his eyes, considering, and Jason almost thinks he’ll relent before he looks to the guard on Jason’s left and commands him to: “Hold his mouth open.”

The second guard takes over holding Jason in place alone, wrapping his arms around the teenager’s chest in a twisted parody of a bear hug while his companion steps around in front of Jason, seizing his chin in one strong hand and digging the points of his armoured fingers in against the pressure points of his jaw. Jason tries to resist but it hurts, and when the guard pinches his nose as well to cut off his breathing there’s only so long he can resist before having to open his mouth to gasp in a breath.

Then the cup is against his lips, flooding his mouth with hot liquid; milky and sickly-sweet. Jason tries to let it spill back out of his mouth instead of swallowing, but they force his head back so that gravity is working against him and then it becomes a choice of drink or choke. He chooses the former, coughing and spluttering still when the cup is eventually taken away.

The guards keep hold of him, but this time with an air of waiting. Jason spits sloppily in the face of the one gripping his face now that he has the moisture in his mouth to do so, but the glob of milky saliva falls well short of its intended target, landing on the chest of his armour instead. Jason receives another cuff across the back of his head for the attempt but it doesn’t really hurt. It probably should, but it doesn’t. Come to think of it, nothing really seems to hurt anymore. Not even his arms, which only moments ago had been aching from the considerable amount of time they’d spent fastened behind his back over the course of the last day.

Jason swallows as the edges of his world begin to soften, blurring at the corners of his eyes. His breathing slows, and even the anger he felt so keenly only a minute ago now seem distant; he can’t for the life of him remember what it was for or why it was so important. Only that it was.

The hand at his jaw disappears, as does the hold around his chest, releasing his arms from where they were pressed to his sides. There’s a quiet click as the bonds are taken from his wrists and Jason’s arms swing forwards, causing him to look dumbly down at his hands before another, this one belonging to the guard on his right, takes hold of his elbow and pulls him forwards. The grip is still firm, though it hardly needs to be: this time Jason is as docile as a lamb under the guidance, still trying to remember what it was that had so disturbed him before.

“That’s better.” The old priest sighs, relieved, his hand brushing over Jason’s cheek before it slides down to wipe away the evidence of the potion that had dripped out the corners of his mouth and down his chin. “We can’t have you telling the people you’re not a willing participant now, can we?”

Jason looks up at him blankly, focusing on the sound of his creaking voice but not much else. Everything feels so very distant now; unimportant. Even the simple act of breathing has become a bother, and a fascination. In, out. In, out. He blinks slowly as a thumb runs over his lips.

“It’s almost a shame… but the city must be served. Put him on the wagon. Let us get this done.”

Jason moves meekly forwards as the guard on his right guides him, before he’s boosted up onto the back of the waiting cart like a child and pushed to sit down. The guard disembarks once he’s sure Jason is settled and not about to go anywhere, taking position with several others around the perimeter of the wagon. Two acolytes appear as if from nowhere to take the matching black stallion’s heads in hand, guiding them out of the gates as a chorus of priests, lead by the old man who was touching him before, move to walk at the head of the procession.

What follows next is a blur. A period of time Jason will never be able to remember clearly.

There are drums. A sound he recalls from some other time before, hammering a steady beat as they leave the temple behind them and head out onto the streets beyond. Jason sinks down into his seat, his head hanging as the effort of holding it up becomes too much for him, but even in his drugged haze he can’t escape the sea of eyes that watch the parade pass by, focusing on Jason - their sacrificial lamb - more than anything else.

Some cheer, some salute, other still watch in silence, their hands clasped tightly before them in prayer. He sees them but doesn’t take them in, doesn’t register what it _means_ beyond the brief fascination at the sea of colour presented by the crowd. Far more important to him is the way the skin of his arms and chest prickles, left bare to the cold air. His nipples harden under the icy touch, and he squirms uncomfortably from the sensation, yet it seems far too much effort to lift his arms to cover himself. All he can do is sit, and ride, and wait. Wait until the tall grey buildings rising up above the streets around them disappear, replaced first by water as they cross the great bridge to the mainland, then by green and the bare twisted trunks of trees at rest, waiting for spring to arrive.

The procession heads uphill next, along a steep and winding coastal road. Up and up, until they arrive at a point where the islands of Gotham and the dark blue sea stretching beyond her borders are visible to any who cares to look down. There are people waiting for them up here too, people different from the ones before, dressed in rich silk and velvet, with furred cloaks keeping them warm from the harsh wind that tears at Jason’s naked skin.

He’s pulled from the wagon, shivering anew as his bare feet touch wet grass. The drums are silent now, maybe they have been ever since they left the city. He can’t remember. He can barely even remember his own name.

Eyes watch, narrowed and focused as Jason is led through the gathered crowd. Some make strange gestures at him, but most simply follow his progress in still and steady silence. Jason passes a couple who - just for a second - look almost familiar, standing with a slight boy with wide grey-blue eyes pressed between them. The boy keeps his eyes focused on Jason as he’s dragged forwards to a heavyset man with a thick golden chain around his neck, standing next to the High Priest of before. And beyond them is…

For the first time since he drank the potion in the cup, Jason feels fear. A bolt of it, sharp and alarming like lightning striking down from the sky; strong enough to shake the topmost cobwebs from his mind.

The entrance to the cave is a dark pit, wide and yawning, with jagged rocks like teeth breaking out of the soil around it. A hole cut so deep it’s as if the Sky God himself had reached down with his hand and struck this gaping wound into the earth to gouge out a refuge for the Knight so that he could hide away from the sun’s burning rays whenever a new day dawned.

_I’m going to die._

The thought cuts through the haze in Jason’s mind loud and clear as the Priest and heavyset man (the mayor?) speak to each other in whispered tones. He tries to protest it, but all that comes out of his mouth is a fearful moan, indistinguishable from the howling wind circling the hilltop. Reminded of what awaits him below, Jason tries to pull away, but all at once the heavy hands of the guards close around his biceps once more, dragging him over to the very edge of the terrible precipice despite his attempts to dig his heels into the ground to slow them.

Behind the gathered crowd to the west the sun begins to sink below the horizon, and the drums strike up again.

The priest is speaking now, chanting, this time in loud clear words for all the gathered assembly to hear, but the only thing that matters to Jason is the darkness of the cave before him. All he can register is his own hitching breaths as he starts to hyperventilate and the potion’s smothering fingers withdraw just in time for fear to take control of his mind, paralysing him just as much as the drug did. Try as he might, Jason still can’t seem to talk.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I - not this way, please. Please!_

Voice and drum reach a crescendo as the final rays of the sun fade from the evening sky. The clouds lose their soft pink and gold underbellies, and from the cavern below comes another sound: the rustle of a thousand restless wings; the squeak and hiss of a thousand hungry voices, before an explosion of bats hurtles out of the cave in a mass so thick it’s impossible to tell one body from another. 

Jason tries to throw himself backwards, fighting against the unyielding hold on his arms as his mouth opens in a scream of denial, but it’s too late. It’s all too late. The hands gripping his arms seize him even tighter than before, then as one the two guards hurl him forwards out across the cave’s gaping entrance, right into the cloud of bats. For a moment Jason feels suspended in the air on a wave of small furry bodies, with his stomach doing flips inside him, but then gravity takes hold and he plummets down, down and down, into the waiting depths of the pit below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome back to another exciting instalment of 'let's make Jason Todd suffer' weekly, because I gotta get mileage out of the hurt side of h/c bingo XD There'll be some comfort soon though, I promise. For now, please enjoy!

Jason falls for what feels like forever, tumbling and spinning through the darkness. 

Desperate to try and save himself, he throws out his hands, seeking some kind of handhold or obstruction with which to slow his rapid descent into the cave below, but his efforts quickly turn out to be in vain. There’s nothing to grasp but the cold empty air around him, which whistles in his ears and tugs at his hair as he falls. Nothing, until finally the leathery wing of a bat - lagging behind the rest of the flock - is crushed between his fingers.

Teeth and claws attack his hand, drawing blood as the tiny beast’s drive to live matches his own, but Jason is too distracted by the thought of his imminent demise to think to release it. Instead he grips tighter on instinct, until fragile bones snap in his hand, only seconds before he plunges into the frigid depths of the water at the bottom of the cave.

The cold shocks him completely, and any air remaining in his lungs is forcibly expelled on impact, only to be replaced by a flood of freezing salt water. Jason gags, and at first tries to struggle, but then his limbs lock into place, paralysed by the cold and the lingering effects of the potion in his system. He can’t breathe, can't fight, can't even _think_ as he starts to sink downwards. All he can do is watch as the water's surface - and the light offered by the rising moon above the cave’s entrance - grows ever more distant.

Jason was expecting hard stone, the mercy of a quick and sudden end when his brains were dashed against the rocks, not this slow drowning, and it doesn't seem fair after everything else he's already been through today. He feels his fingers go lax as the water pulls him down deeper, numbing to the temperature, which allows the bat - dead already - to finally slip free from his grasp. Its small body soon disappears into the gloom, leaving only a thin trail of blood behind. At these depths the light is dim, almost non-existent, and the constricting weight of the water closes in around Jason like a heavy chain, further dulling his senses as the current continues to push him down.

The only thing he _can_ do is close his eyes against the icy burn of the water as he sinks and sinks, until finally his body settles against the silt at the bottom of the pool. It’s thick, and muddy; the leftovers from centuries of sediment buildup and defecation by the cave’s more permanent residents. Jason slides and drifts along the bottom, helpless as a piece of driftwood, until his fingers graze and catch over the rocks that rise, half buried, out of that mud. 

Unthinkingly he moves his hand, exploring the shape of the closest one: it’s smooth, worn down by the water perhaps, with a curved dome. And it isn’t until his fingers slip further down to find two gaping holes formed side by side in the stone’s face - then another hole, rough and triangular in shape beneath it - that Jason truly realises what it is he’s dealing with. Dread leads him to probe further, and when he does he discovers the hard ridged surfaces of -

Teeth. They’re _teeth_.

Jason recoils sharply, opening his eyes to stare in horror at the pale but recognisable shape of the skull grinning back at him through the water. He turns his head away, an action he soon regrets, because no matter where he looks down here there are bones, hundreds of them - skulls, femurs, ribs - all picked clean by the fish and crabs that make this underwater cavern their home. The bottom of the pool is a graveyard, spanning back generations, and if Jason doesn’t get out of here it’s going to become his graveyard too.

Motivated by fear, new strength flows into his body from where he had none before, and Jason pushes with his feet against the bottom of the pool in a desperate bid for the surface; ignoring how his toes dig and twist into the eye sockets of one of the skulls in the process. He’s never been a good swimmer, that’s true, but at least Jason knows the basics of how to do it unlike so many of his peers back in the city, and the terror he’s feeling is a powerful stimulant that drives him to overcome any shortcomings he has through sheer determination.

With each passing second, the burning in his lungs worsens, accompanied by the sharp sting of saltwater in his mouth and nostrils. His ascent feels torturously slow, and there’s a clock ticking in the back of Jason’s head the entire time, screaming at him with every move of the needle that he needs to get out of here right the hell now. That he can’t die like this. Another corpse atop a mountain of bones.

It’s agonising, but metre by metre, Jason drags his unwilling and exhausted body up through the water, fighting back against the pounding of his heart and the red-tinged shadows that try to creep in at the edges of his vision until eventually his head breaks the surface. However the relief he feels on reaching that goal doesn’t last, as he only manages to keep it there long enough him to gasp in one ragged and painful breath before he’s dragged back down under the water again.

It’s the current, Jason realises. The invisible force of the water itself trying to hold him down.

He can’t - _won’t_ \- let it win. He refuses to.

Kicking and clawing, he forces his way upwards to the surface once again. This time long enough to heave in two more breaths and get a glimpse of a rocky shore that lies just ten feet away to his right. At once Jason strikes out for it, mercilessly driving his aching and exhausted body forwards until finally he manages to grasp the edges of that outcropping.

Pulling himself free of the water proves to be another battle, a war that for a moment Jason’s not sure he can win, but ultimately - despite almost slipping back into the pool three more times - he manages to heave himself, gasping, out onto the stone floor of the cave. At once Jason rolls himself onto his side, instinct guiding him just in time to avoid choking on his own vomit as he proceeds to throw up a mess of sea water, bile and milky fluid from his stomach. The mixture burns his throat, but when the process is done he's rewarded in finally being able to drag more clean and glorious air into his lungs.

It might be the sweetest feeling he’s ever known.

He passes out afterwards. For exactly how long he doesn’t know, but when Jason opens his eyes again his hair is still damp and he’s shivering badly, unable to feel any of his fingers or toes for the cold. It takes a concentrated effort to convince his limbs to cooperate with his mind as he pushes himself to sit up, drawing his aching legs in to his naked chest so that he can wrap his arms around them. The action doesn’t do much to help against the freezing temperatures, but Jason feels better for it nonetheless as he comes face to face with the reality of his situation.

He’s _alive_. By some miracle he survived the fall, and near drowning, and now he’s alive, here, at the bottom of the God cave. He can’t believe it. Jason thought for sure he was dead from the moment he felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet when the Temple Guard pushed him forwards, and the solid _relief_ that comes with that feeling is enough to make him gasp and shake again, pressing his face against his knees until the feeling passes.

It’s only when he stops to look at his surroundings that Jason considers that his survival may not actually be a good thing. That in reality - past the initial desperate urge to live - it might have been better to let himself drown like all those who came before him.

The bottom of the cave is so dark that Jason can’t see more than ten feet in front of him in any direction, and the only reason he can see even that far is because of the smallest glints of moonlight reflecting off the surface of the nearby pool. And though the water now looks deceptively calm and innocent as it laps against the edges of the rocky area Jason has found sanctuary on, he still finds himself shivering at the vivid memory of bones resting underneath its surface.

Luckily - or unluckily - there’s no need to venture back into those waters. It would be pointless except to find a way to escape (or die, an oddly seductive voice murmurs in the back of his head, before he pushes it away), and judging by the sheer walls at the other sides of the cave that’s not going to happen. The bank he’s sitting on is the only way out that he can see, and the fact that the water has seen fit to wear smooth the rest of the rock face around it means there’s nowhere for Jason to get a handhold so that he could start climbing back up to the top of the cave. 

Not that it matters, even if he could get a grip, the distance he must have fallen… Jason leans forwards, craning his neck back to get a glimpse of the star-studded sky through the entrance high above him. There’s no way he has the strength left to make a climb like that.

So he can’t go up. And if he can’t go up then that means… Jason looks back over his shoulder at the depths of the cave behind him. His hands and feet are now entirely numb from the cold, while his teeth threaten to shake themselves right out of his skull, but he does his best to ignore both sensations as he studies his one and only hope for getting out of here. The expanse of the cavern beyond is huge and imposing, and the shadows offer no clue as to what lies deeper down in its depths - if indeed there’s anything back there at all. But Jason quickly comes to the conclusion that anything is better than staying here, waiting to die slowly of starvation - or more likely thirst, since the water of the pool is laced with salt and therefore undrinkable.

(And it does occurs to him that the pool must be connected to the sea in some way for that to be the case, but the idea of trying to swim back down and find out exactly how that is fills him with instant revulsion. He’d much rather take his chances on solid ground than risk the water again.)

Jason squeezes his arms tighter around his legs for a moment, clasping at the ruined silk of his trousers. He’s already weak, thirsty and hungry; a state of affairs that will only grow worse the longer he waits. If he’s going to move he has to do it now while he still has the strength, otherwise he might as well lay down and die here. It's not like anyone is going to come to save him, which means it’s up to him to save himself.

Decision made, Jason braces one hand against the nearest wall before standing. Then, step by agonising step, he starts to move, walking deeper into the darkness.

 

*

 

Jason loses track of time as he walks. Of space. Even of meaning it feels like. Once he leaves the cave entrance and pool behind him the darkness becomes absolute, so deep that Jason can’t see his hands even when he holds them directly in front of his face. He has to feel his way through the cavern, with slow stumbling steps and his fingers pressed against the cave wall for guidance.

He stubs his toes against unseen obstructions more times than he can count, and scrapes the soles of his feet against sharpened rocks on the cave floor badly enough that they start to bleed. Jason thinks the cold will numb the pain, but strangely that isn’t the case. The further he ventures out of the initial cavern and into the narrow network of tunnels beyond, the warmer the air around him starts to feel. So warm in fact that the opposite becomes true. The feeling flows back into his extremities, forcing him to experience every sensation more acutely than before - including pain.

Jason’s no expert on caves, but he’s fairly certain that shouldn’t be the case. He always thought it would get colder the deeper down into the earth you went.

It’s claustrophobic down here in the dark. The tunnel he’s fumbled into narrows and widens without rhyme or reason. Sometimes he can stretch both arms out from his body without touching either wall. Others he’s forced to squeeze through a narrow gap, not knowing if there’s anything on the other side. Getting stuck between two rocks would be a pathetic way to die, that’s for sure, and Jason tries his best not to think about it as he walks, or anything other than continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

When he does finally sees light ahead of him, he wonders if he’s started hallucinating in addition to everything else.

It's weak, faint, barely there. Coming from not just one source but many, glittering like stars in the night sky against the pitch blackness of the cave walls. Jason stumbles towards the glow, blinking rapidly as his eyes begin to water after being in the dark so long, before he falls down onto his knees to examine the origin of that light.

Crystals. Tiny little crystals embedded in the surface of the rocks at the edges of the tunnel, as well as the ceiling. Each pulses with its own inner light, and Jason can’t help gasping when he touches them, running his fingers over the smooth glassy surface and feeling the heat emanating from within each individual gem. This has to be the source of why the air down here feels so warm. 

Jason had no idea such wonders existed down here in the bowels of the earth, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it’s some sign. Some beacon of hope that they were drawing him down here, pulling him in the direction he needs to go.

Or… no, he doesn’t believe that. He doesn’t believe in anything, except for the delusional and cruel lengths that others will go to so that they can satisfy their own beliefs.

The crystals are tiny; the biggest no longer than his thumbnail, and they're embedded so firmly in the rougher stone around them that Jason knows he has no chance of working one free without the aid of any tools. But he still tries: first with his fingers, then with the prayer necklace hanging around his neck. Jason pulls the necklace over his head roughly, before attempting to dig the corners of the metal links down the sides of the crystals.

It doesn't work. All he accomplishes is to bruise his fingers, and after ten minutes of trying Jason finally he throws the necklace aside in disgust. He’d hoped that if he could take some of the gems to carry with him he’d be able to choose his own path, but now it looks like he has no choice but to follow the direction they’re leading him in.

Of course, Jason thinks, when he stands back up and swoons, he might not get much further now anyway. His dehydration is so acute that it’s like a pounding drum in the front of his skull, combined with both the dreadful dryness in the back of his throat and the cramping in his stomach. People without water die quicker than those without food, he’d seen that growing up plenty of times. Fresh water has to be his first priority before anything else.

“Keep going.” Jason mutters to himself, the first words he’s spoken aloud in hours. Since those bastards who called themselves priests had seen fit to throw him down here. He winces at the sound of his own voice, rough and haggard, as it bounces off the walls of the cave around him. “If you die, at least you die fighting.”

He starts to stagger forwards again, wincing when he looks down and can now see that one of his feet is leaving a bloody trail of footprints behind him. That would be concerning if he wasn’t so sure that he’s the only living thing down here except for the bats and a few cave dwelling insects.

Another hour passes, and maybe another hour after that. Jason’s vision starts to blur again with exhaustion; the individual crystals in front of him merging into a single blue haze. But still he keeps going, keeps walking. What else can he do? He doesn’t want to stop and rest, even though he acknowledges that it might help. If he does, he’s afraid he might never find the strength to get back up again.

Then he sees the door, and finally his legs buckle under him.

Jason yelps, catching himself with his hands before bursting into a ragged series of coughs at the painful impact of his knees against the floor. It hurts terribly, but his attention is caught by the sight of that door; the first sign of any human habitation he’s seen down here.

_Maybe not human_ , his mind suggests, before Jason attempts to shut that part of himself up. He doesn’t believe, he’s never believed, yet looking at the thing makes it hard not to wonder.

It’s big, roughly seven feet tall; the doorway itself made with precise lines cut straight into the rock face. Around the door are carvings, bats most prevalently, as well as words written in one of the sacred languages Jason never discovered how to read. He can recognise a few letters and words when written in the common tongue, but some things were just not impossible for peasant boys without rich families and tutors to learn the interpretation of. Yet that’s not the strangest part.

The strangest part is that there are chains crossing the doorway. Heavy, rusted. They sag with their own weight, held up only by thick bolts hammered into the stone on either side.

“What the fuck?” Jason whispers once he’s stopped coughing, shaping the syllables around the heavy swollen weight of his tongue.

He looks back behind him at the path he’s taken, then again at the door. Something stirs in his chest. A pull, stronger than the warmth that has guided him up until now. It’s like... like someone’s calling his name in a silent voice. Urging him forwards.

_Close. He’s so close._

Jason swallows. He wants to go back suddenly, just as much as he wants to keep going forwards. His heart feels like it’s beating overtime in his chest. Yet going back will almost certainly result in his death. It’s already taken almost everything he has to get this far, he hasn’t the strength left to go all the way back again and find another way out.

(If this even is a way out. If this isn’t in fact some dead end. A long forgotten place of worship that will turn out to be as barren and empty as the rest of the cavern.)

But what choice does he have? That’s what it boils down to, and when Jason examines his options in his head he’s fairly certain the answer is none. His chances of living through this are already minimal, and if he has to take a risk to improve those odds then so be it. His whole life feels like it’s been one giant risk sometimes, why should now be any different?

Gritting his teeth, Jason crawls the rest of the way to the door.

When his hand touches the metal surface, he’s almost certain he feels it thrumming beneath his palm like something alive. It doesn’t make any sense, but then not much has made sense lately. In the space of a day his whole life had been turned upside down: he’s been kidnapped, imprisoned, then thrown down into a cave to be food for a God. Humming doors aren’t much in comparison to that. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Putting the strange vibration out of mind, Jason examines first the chains, then the bolts holding them to the walls. They’re old, very old. So rusted it seems a miracle that they’re still in place. But why would someone put them here? To keep people out? Or…

Or to keep something _in_. 

The hairs prickle on the back of his neck, and Jason spares another look back the way he came before swallowing dryly. It doesn’t matter what’s in there, he has to go through. And if it is something dark and terrible, then well, the holy men who threw him down here can deal with it. He’s beyond caring at this point. But first, before he can open the door, the chains have to come off.

Jason leans up on his knees. Taking hold of the lowest part of the nearest chain, he uses it to haul himself back up onto his feet, then braces himself to pull. 

The bolts in the wall are rusted and weak from the ravages of time, but they still put up a fight as Jason strains against them, the muscles in his shoulders screaming in protest. He pulls and pulls, until it feels like his arms are about to break from the effort and finally the first bolt worms itself free of the stone it was embedded in. He has to repeat the process three more times before all the chains are removed from his path, the rusted metal collapsing into a pile at his feet in front of the doorway when he’s done.

Triumph feeds Jason a new burst of strength, even as he almost faints again from the effort. He can do this now, he’s almost there.

Hooking both hands around the door handle, Jason braces himself again, then pulls, grunting as his weakened body shakes from the effort. But despite the removal of the chains the door still doesn’t budge, no matter how much force he puts into it. That’s when the possibility bursts hits him that it could be bolted on the other side, and that's a frightening thought. If it is then Jason has no chance of getting it open.

“C’mon.” He gasps, before stopping as he goes into another coughing fit. Jason leans against the door with his temple pressed against the humming metal until it passes. “C’mon!” He bangs his fist against it now, hitting once, twice, over the symbol of the bat. The pain echoes dully up his arm, and Jason takes it as a bad sign that he’s starting to go numb to the feeling again. “Please, just… just fucking open…”

He wheezes, sliding further down and onto the ground as his hand lets go of the handle. His eyes feel heavy, and it would be easy, so damn easy just to go to sleep here. To rest. Maybe it’d even be a good thing. If he sleeps he’ll recover some strength, maybe even enough to force open the door. It doesn’t look like it’s been opened in years, decades even. So maybe it’s just stiff. Maybe…

Maybe…

Jason’s eyes start to drift shut. His breathing evens out as the darkness creeps back in around around the edges of his vision, beckoning him to give in. He could just stop now, stop everything. Stop fighting, stop moving. He could even stop breathing. The pain would end, and he could finally...

_NO!_

Jason jerks back awake violently. The word appears in his head, sudden and powerful as cannon fire. He sits up, then almost collapses back down until he catches himself with his hands before looking back at the door with wide-eyes. His heart is now hammering in his chest. “Wh-what?”

He could have sworn he just heard a voice. Deep. Powerful. A voice like thunder. Like -

\- like a _God’s_.

“Who… is someone...?” Jason rasps uneasily, looking around at the faintly lit subterranean walls. He can’t see anyone, and no more words come in response to his question. It surprises him that he feels oddly bereft about that. But then again, he’s been alone down here for hours, facing the reality of his own mortality, and that voice, forceful as it was, had been… it had been...

Comforting, almost.

Jason swallows, then turns his attention back to the door. He’s missing something. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but it’s true. Moving around on his knees, Jason starts to search the wider area of the tunnel in front of the doorway. Maybe there’s a key, despite the lack of a keyhole. Maybe there’s a certain kind of knock he’s supposed to use, a secret signal the door will respond to. Some of the city gangs would use patterns like that when granting access to their hideouts, so that they knew whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t part of the City Watch or a member of a rival gang.

Of course, that theory also implies that there’s someone else on the other side of the door. Which is a possibility Jason doesn’t know if he wants to think about - even if it is the owner of that voice. If in fact the voice had been real and not just a figment of his imagination.

It’s almost right under his feet that he finds what he’s looking for, so obvious that Jason doesn’t know how he missed it before. And when he does find it, his blood runs cold.

He knows that symbol. Knows it from when he’s seen it carved into alleyway walls, scrawled against the sides of houses where murder has been committed. A smile, wide and cruel; mocking laughter held behind a maw filled with too many teeth.

_It’s the devil, Jason_. Don’t look at it. His mother’s voice whispers to him, out of the depths of the great beyond and his own memory.

Jason’s body shakes anew as he looks down at that awful grin. It’s painted on the ground in a faded rust red. Which has to be… that has to be… His eyes track the circle carved around it in swirling messy lines. The tiny bones scattered across the circle in a pattern that looks completely chaotic; accidental, but he somehow knows is not. This is it. This is what’s keeping the door closed.

All at once, he understands exactly what he has to do.

Jason scrabbles around on the floor until he finds a suitably sized rock, one with a sharpened edge. Touching that symbol with his bare hands would be a bad idea. A very bad one. Even doing this much may not be wise, but since Jason’s basically dead already at this point he doesn’t know how his options could get any worse.

With gritted teeth he first knocks the bones out of the circle, trying not think about how - though tiny - they look like they came from a human, then starts to scratch the stone through the bloody smile and squiggly circle. Even in his dehydrated state, sweat still drips down his nose as he works, and Jason swears he feels eyes on him again suddenly, peering out of the shadowed darkness the crystal's light doesn’t reach. He tries to ignore them as he works to break the circle and erase that horrible grin from the cave floor.

A shudder runs through the tunnel.

Jason freezes as a few loose chips of stone fall from the ceiling above him, bouncing down onto the ground nearby. When he looks up he notices there are larger stones hanging down from the ceiling, many of them awfully sharp and pointed. They look like the icicles that hang from the branches of trees in the winter, and Jason can imagine all too easily what would happen to his weak human body if one were to fall down on top of him.

There’s no time to think about it. Jason can’t let himself think about it. But his hands now shake even worse than before, and his vision blurs dangerously as he keeps scratching at that mocking grin. Not far away, he can hear the humming of the door grow louder, almost like a siren call.

“Fuck you.” he gasps, as loud as he can to whatever’s watching on either side. There are blisters forming on his hands from how forcefully he’s gripping the stone, another injury to add to the long list he already owes someone payback for. But right now, all he can do is focus on the task in front of him.

The cave shakes again and this time Jason hears something crack, louder, and there’s a deafening crunch as one of the hanging stones above falls to the ground and shatters into a hundred pieces against the ground only twenty feet away from him. Jason winces, he doesn’t know if that was meant to be a warning or not as splinters of rock pelt his skin, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s like a man possessed now, scratching desperately to remove that bloody smile from the cave floor. Just a little more. He’s almost there.

The light at the far end of the tunnel has taken on a poisonous green hue.

He cuts the smile through, and the shaking in the cave worsens. Now Jason staggers to his feet, casting a single alarmed glance behind him before he throws himself back against the door. The blisters on his hand pop as he pulls on the handle, and the cuts on his feet reopen, leaving bloody smudges on the ground. 

Jason can feel something at his back, something malevolent. Something _angry_. He pulls and pulls, the sound of sickening laughter ringing high in his ears, and doesn’t stop even as he swears he can feel hot, sickly breath against the back of his neck. As more rocks fall from the ceiling to the bottom of the tunnel and the comforting light of the crystals starts to fade. As bony white fingers grasp for -

The door opens.

Exactly what happens after that, Jason doesn’t rightly know. He steps back to let it swing open, then falls through over the threshold, collapsing down as the last dregs of energy bleed out from his body. The air beyond is cool in contrast to the heated tunnel, and Jason welcomes the rush of it as he hits the black stone beneath. He’s done. He’s given everything he has to give. Whatever happens next will happen, with or without his consent.

Something brushes against his ankles, an acid touch seeking to drag him back out of his sanctuary. But before it can the very air seems to swell. The shadows thicken, and Jason hears the sound of something or someone passing over him. The crunch of a fist against flesh and a snarl like thunder.

He drifts, eyes barely open. Even breathing feels like a battle at this point and it would be easy, so easy to stop even that, to let go, to…

Footsteps. The sound of someone kneeling down beside him. A hand slips beneath his head: a huge hand, easily big enough to cup the back of his skull in its palm, before he’s lifted up and cradled against someone’s broad chest as the darkness seems to wrap around him in a comforting hold.

“Jason.” That voice, deep like the depths of the ocean, like the expanse of the night sky, murmurs his name like a benediction, before a thumb brushes over his dry, cracked lips, then moves on to caress his cheek. “ _Jason_.”

Jason thinks he says something in response, a plea, a request, but he can’t be sure, and the last thing he hears as those strong arms carry him deeper into the safety of the shadows is the sound of the door slamming shut again behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's another chapter of God!Bruce stuff for you all this week, this time with God!Bruce actually appearing in it! Warnings again for elements of dubcon, largely because of Gods not operating on the same rules people do. Enjoy!

When Jason comes to again, he’s lying on something soft, giving. Different from the unyielding cave floor he remembers from before. There’s a weight pressed down over him too, warm and secure as it wraps around his curled limbs and bare chest, protecting him from the cool air waiting outside the blanket’s boundaries.

True awareness comes slowly, but with it the realisation that he feels better than he did the last time he was awake, in both body and mind. His head no longer aches, and the acute thirst that had long tortured his arid throat is gone. He doesn’t feel hungry either, just tired, and then only a little. The way he would after a run through the city streets, high on the thrill of victory from a successful lift. And that feeling is such a relief after all the agony that came before that Jason can’t immediately bring himself to question how it came to be. He only wants to enjoy it a little longer before he has to face reality again.

But the longer he’s awake the more the events of the previous day come back to him, with unwanted and soul-shaking clarity. First the fall, then the blind journey through the tunnels until finally he found the lights and the doorway. And after that… the last thing Jason remembers is someone speaking his name, someone lifting him up from the ground and carrying him out of the tunnels, away from the terrible presence that had come for his blood when Jason broke its sigil.

It’s that final memory that spurs Jason to uncurl and shove himself upwards from the mattress he’s lying on: the knowledge that he isn’t alone down here anymore. Someone else is in here with him. Someone else who saved his life and brought him here to this place. To this room, presumably still hidden in the very heart of the Bat-God’s Cave.

But when Jason turns his head to take in his surroundings, it quickly becomes clear that whoever it was that saved him is no longer in the immediate vicinity. The room is empty but for him, and Jason shivers as he ventures a wary “Hello?” into the gloom, his voice sounding so much smaller than he means it to be. He forces himself to swallow - marvelling a little at the easy slide of saliva down the back of his throat - then calls again, louder this time. “Hello?!”

He isn’t afraid, not at all, but the resounding silence in response to his call is still unnerving. Jason doesn’t like the idea that someone - a stranger with unknown motivations - could be nearby without him knowing exactly where. After taking a deep and fortifying breath, Jason scoots towards the edge of the bed (which is _enormous_ , bigger than any bed he’s ever seen before in his life, and covered in blue sheets so dark they’re almost black) and stands up, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

His feet don’t hurt when they make contact with the cool floor either, Jason realises, which prompts him to lift his legs, one at a time, to examine the soles of his feet. Miraculously, every single cut and scrape he’d sustained while travelling through the cave is gone, replaced by smooth unblemished skin once more. Quickly Jason turns his hands over as well, eager to see if the same is true for both the blisters on his palms and the bite marks and scratches the bat left him across the backs of his fingers and on the knuckles of his right hand. 

… almost, but not quite; those wounds are also healed, but the ones the bat gave him have left scars behind.

Jason wonders if that’s supposed to mean something.

He pulls the blanket in tighter around his shoulders. The fabric it’s made from is - he’s not sure there’s a word for it. It’s light but heavy all at the same time, softer than sheep’s wool and smooth as silk; it tapers off it sharp points and behaves more like water than solid material when it trails behind him across the floor.

A glance upwards now that he’s out from under the bed’s canopy proves that his earlier assumption was right, he’s clearly still in the depths of the cave. But in contrast to the rough-cut rock of the ceiling the floor in here is smooth and polished, clear enough that Jason thinks that - were there a little more light in the room - he’d be able to see the shape of his own reflection in its dark glassy surface. And speaking of light, what little there is in this chamber comes from candles set into stands against the wall this time, rather than crystals embedded in stone. Jason stops by one and reaches up to run his hand just above the flame, because after all the unbelievable shit he’d witnessed on his way down here it’s nice to have warmth and light from a source he understands.

But other than the candles and the bed, there’s very little in the way of furniture in the room. Jason can’t even see a way out - which immediately sets alarm bells ringing in his head: just a tall cabinet carved out of ebony wood that he approaches slowly, curious as to what might be inside. He stops to spare a wary look behind him before reaching to open the cabinet doors, just in case he missed any clue as to the location of the one who brought him down here. Call it instinct, but something tells him he shouldn’t be doing this. and he wants to be ready in case his erstwhile host returns. But there’s still no sign of anyone else in the room, so Jason decides he might as well risk it.

“Whoa.” He murmurs, once he’s pulled the heavy doors of the cabinet open. They swing forwards silently, without even a single squeak of protest from silver hinges, and what he finds on the shelves inside is enough to give even a seasoned thief like Jason pause.

Weapons. Armour. Jason lets go of the blanket around his shoulders so he can use both hands to examine the objects within. Without him holding it up, the blanket slivers silently down to the floor behind him to lie forgotten at his feet.

The first thing Jason touches in the cabinet is the helm. It looks similar to the ones the temple guards in Gotham wore, but much finer in make. The craftsmanship is exquisite; functional he can tell at once, but there’s still something artful about its design as well. He runs his thumb across the visor, then to the pointed rise of bat ears behind. The steel is so heavy he can barely lift it when he tries, and Jason quickly realises that any man who could wear this must be fearsome strong.

Carefully, he places the helm back down on the velvet cloth that covers each shelf, before its weight can cause it to slip and fall from between his fingers.

A line of coiled rope, made not from hemp, but from what appears to be steel, is the second next he looks at. There’s a hook at the end, curled and wicked sharp. Jason thinks he can divine its purpose as an aid for climbing, yet he can’t understand how one would make rope from metal. A chain yes, but this single line of steel that bends and twists with the motions of his hands? He doesn’t think any blacksmith he’s ever encountered could construct such a marvel.

After shaking his head in wonder, Jason moves on. Picking up a piece of steel wrought in the cunning shape of a bat with curved wings next, he turns it over in his hands. The metal is hammered thin enough to appear flimsy at first sight, but it will not bend no matter how much force Jason exerts on it, and when he tests the edges of the weapon with the pad of his index finger he hisses in surprise. Just the lightest application of pressure proves to be enough to split his skin apart.

Now _this_ , this could be useful. Jason lifts his finger, sucking the blood out of the fresh cut as he considers his options. Having some kind of weapon he knows he can use makes him feel better at once. Until he was snatched from his hiding place in the abandoned section of Gotham he’d never been without his knife, and since he has no idea who he’s dealing with down here (Jason still can’t, or is unwilling, to call him a God) he wants to be prepared. He wants to be able to defend himself if necessary.

The priests sent him down here to die for the Bat, and healed or not, Jason doesn’t know if that’s still supposed to be the case. He doesn’t know anything about the one who brought him in here, and he’s not about to let his guard down just because that person saved his life earlier.

And just as he’s thinking that, a deep voice murmurs in his ear, “You know, I’m fairly certain that doesn’t belong to you.” 

Jason’s body goes rigid. His hands clench, and for a second he can’t turn, can’t move an inch at that presence behind him; knowing that someone snuck up on him without a sound. Then Jason whirls, twisting on the spot like a dancer and thrusting the hand holding the bat-blade out before him with vicious and violent intent, striking at where he imagines his opponent’s neck to be.

There’s no real finesse or skill behind the attack, just an instinctive need to protect himself. Hit first and ask questions later was part of the language all street kids spoke, and Jason’s been speaking it half his life. He lashes out at what he perceives as a threat, then gasps when both of his wrists are easily caught in a strong grip and bent back against his sides.

Jason tilts his head up. Up and up, from the broad chest directly in front of his eyes to the pale face above. Cool blue eyes look back down at him, and the sight of them causes Jason to gasp, only dimly hearing the sound the blade makes when it slips from between his fingers to bounce and skitter across the floor underneath the cabinet. “You… you…”

“Easy.” The man tries to calm him, and his voice is that same deep rumble that Jason remembers from before. The one that makes him shiver and quake in response. The grip on his wrists is firm, but gentle. “It’s all right. You’re safe. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Jason.”

Pretty words perhaps, but they do little to sooth Jason’s frazzled nerves now. This guy came out of _nowhere,_ appearing behind him as swiftly and silently as a ghost.

“What the fuck!” Bursts from his lips before he’s shaking his head in response, trying again to pull free of that powerful hold. But he might as well be trying to break stone for all the good it does. “Let go of me!”

Jason doesn’t expect his demand to work, so he’s completely surprised when those hands release him at once. Enough that he stumbles backwards until his hips collide with one of the cabinet’s lower shelves. Pain smacks into the small of his back and upwards, but Jason pays it no mind; his focus is entirely on the man in front of him.

He’s tall, six feet at least, and dressed entirely in black, with heavily muscled shoulders that seem impossibly broad. Ice blue eyes look down at Jason out of a handsome and chiselled face, beneath a head of thick black hair cut short. Eyes that seem to penetrate into and through Jason, like their owner is committing every inch of him to memory.

Jason watches him in turn, fingers curling around the shelf behind him as the man bends down gracefully, sweeping up the fallen blanket from the floor and gathering it in his arms. “Easy,” he says again, in his earth-shaking voice, before offering the fabric back out to him. “Here.”

Jason shivers involuntarily in response, suddenly all too aware of his naked torso. Wary of a trap, he stretches out his hand slowly to take the blanket, then snatches it back once it’s safely in his grasp. He’s businesslike as he wraps the blanket around his shoulders again, tugging the black material in over his chest before looking back up. 

“Who are you?”

“I think you know the answer to that already.”

“I don’t.” Jason protests, making one last futile attempt to cling to what has been a lifetime of disenchanted atheism. “I have no fucking clue.” 

“You do.” He tenses as his saviour - captor? - steps closer, closing the distance between them to a measly few inches.

It’s too close, and Jason shivers; this time his first instinct to try and lash out is strangely curbed. Instead his hands stay fixed in the thick material wrapped around his shoulders. “That… I’m telling you, I don’t. You can’t just expect me to…”

“Jason.” The man - _God_ \- in front of him sounds almost exasperated, but strangely fond at the same time. Like he expected this as much as he’s irked by it. Like he already knows Jason well enough to predict the particular intricacies of his behaviour. “Enough.”

Enough, he says. _Enough,_ like he isn’t shaking apart Jason’s entire belief system just by standing in front of him. By existing. But the world around them continues to turn on its axis regardless of what Jason wants it to be, and he can’t find the words to refute the evidence in front of him anymore. 

So he goes still, only the thick motion of his throat when he swallows betraying his nerves. “You’re… you’re Gotham’s God. You’re the Dark Knight. The Bat. You’re the one who...” Jason’s jaw tightens. “You’re the one they sent me down here to die for.”

The Knight’s expression is grave when he nods. “Yes.”

“But it wasn’t my name they drew.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Jason asks bluntly, trying not to give away any sign of the sick curl of fear he feels in his stomach when asking that question. His gaze is open, defiant, as it meets the Knight’s. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? That’s why -”

Anger covers that handsome face, and it’s so dark and terrible that despite his best efforts not to, Jason actually flinches in the face of it, afraid that the emotion is directed at him. That he said something wrong and is about to suffer for it. For a moment the Knight looks different, inhuman. Like something dark and old and terrible, the creature of night the stories warned about.

When the God reaches a hand towards to him, Jason clenches his teeth, closes his eyes and waits for whatever pain is coming.

Only there is no pain. Just the warm feeling of bare fingertips on his jaw, guiding him to look back upwards. Cautiously, Jason opens his eyes once more, wary of what he’ll see when he does.

The anger in the Knight’s face is gone. Or - no, not gone, but held back. Lingering dangerously at the corners of his mouth and in the depths of his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you, Jason.” The Knight says heavily, with something like grief in his voice. “Death would have found you in the tunnels if that was your destiny.”

Jason doesn’t understand. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s been as far back as anyone can remember. Boys are chosen, boys die, and the city endures. “But... what then? I mean, if you’re not going to kill me, why am I here?” An idea occurs to him, “Is it because I got your door open? Is that all you needed? Does this mean I...” he swallows, “Can I leave?”

There’s silence, and Jason knows the answer to his own question. Things never are that simple. He tries to take another step back, forgetting that his back is already pressed right up against the cabinet. There’s nowhere to go, and all Jason succeeds in doing is further rattling the smaller objects inside.

The Knight doesn’t physically move any closer to him, but his eyes stay focused on Jason in a way that makes it feel like he might as well have. The hand lingers at his jaw, even when Jason tries to turn his head away, and the brush of the Knight’s thumb across the corner of his lips makes him feel something else other than fear. Something like a low trembling excitement deep down in the pit of his stomach.

He should bite him. Do _something_ to push him off. But Jason doesn’t, he stays still instead, letting that distracting touch continue. He doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him so gently, without any intent to harm afterwards.

“Jason, you don’t understand -” The Knight starts to say, before Jason cuts him off.

“Then explain! Don’t… just tell me what you want. There’s something, right?” He demands, ignoring the niggling voice that raising his voice to a deity may not be the wisest thing to do. “What…. Why else am I here? Why did you save me? You don’t want me to die for you, but you won’t let me go either, so then what? What _do_ you want from me?”

The Knight sighs and shakes his head, but he also noticeably doesn’t deny the accusation. Instead he steps back, his hand dropping from Jason’s jaw to instead hover before him, palm up in a beckoning gesture. “If you’ll let me speak, I’ll show you.”

Jason looks down at the offered hand, biting his lip. He wonders what would happen if he refused to take it, before pushing the idea out of mind. He wants to know the answer, so he puts his hand in the Knight’s, watching the pale white lines of the new scars across the back of his right hand flash in the candlelight as he does.

The Knight leads him over to one of the chamber walls, the one opposite of the foot of the bed, and guides Jason to stand in front of it, looking at the flat black surface of the stone while the Knight himself stands behind him. “What do you see?”

“A wall.”

There’s a sound Jason doesn’t expect in response to his dry answer, the soft huff of amused laughter before the Knight’s hand guides his own up and presses it against the flat stone. “Yes, and no. Look again, Jason.”

Trying not to be distracted by the powerful presence behind him (and the large hand dwarfing his own), Jason does as he’s told, squinting at the solid black surface in front of him. At first he sees nothing, but then it’s as if the world swims into focus: he can see the thin silver threads that spread out through pathways in the stone like a spider’s web. They seem to ripple and vibrate as Jason touches them, and all at once the entire picture becomes clear.

“It’s the city.” he says after a moment, once he connects the patterns in front of him with the familiar streets he grew up in. “It’s Gotham.”

He can see the three islands with their connecting bridges; the centre with its temple and business district beside. There’s the huge market square he and the other street kids would run to each day to practice their pick pocketing trade, and to the north the abandoned buildings where they went to sleep each night. He can even see the docks in the south, where each individual jetty has been mapped out in minute detail.

“Yes.” That deep voice confirms in its pleasing rumble, causing Jason to shiver once more. “My city. _Your_ city.”

Jason bites his lip, then shakes his head. The map is pretty, but he’s still not seeing where this going. “The city of assholes, you mean. I don’t know if you’ve been there recently, but it’s a pretty fucked up place these days, so I wouldn’t be so quick to lay claim to it if I were you.”

“Not for over a hundred years.” The Knight replies, the undercurrent of anger back in his voice. “But I’ve still been able to watch her from afar. I know what Gotham has become.”

Ice pools in the base of Jason’s spine. He tries to turn his head, to look up at the God behind him. “A _hundred_ years? What do you mean, a hundred years?! You’re a _God._ You’re telling me that someone… that _thing_ in the tunnels, it…”

“My adversary.” The Knight replies, looking disgruntled, “He trapped me here in my own realm, him and the others of his ilk. I was an overconfident fool. And because of it…” Those blue eyes look back down at him, “I’m sorry, Jason. This was never meant to be forced upon you.”

“But it was.” Jason says sharply, unforgiving. Apologies are cheap, and they can’t change the past. “It was forced upon me, so why don’t you hurry up and get to the point? Cut the crap and just tell me what’s going on.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Jason finds himself turned by the Knight’s arms, pushed so his back is flat against the map and his head raised so that their eyes can’t help but meet. Strong fingers cup his chin once more as the God speaks, “They gave you to me, Jason. You may not have died the way they wanted you to, but your life and soul are still mine; we are bound, for now and always. Even if it was safe for me to let you go now, I couldn’t, not completely.”

Jason thinks about the necklace and the bat that was painted on his chest; the many prayers spoken before they tossed him into the cave - and he also thinks about that bloody smile painted on the ground; the thing that had so desperately wanted him dead when he freed the God standing in front of him now.

That’s what the Knight is talking about, he realises, when he says it’s not safe for him to let Jason go.

“My worship has become weak and corrupted in the time I’ve been trapped here,” he continues, “you’ve seen that for yourself, and with it my own strength has waned. The sacrifices were never meant to be what they’ve become, that was my enemy’s doing, and he fed from your predecessors suffering like a leech when I refused to. But now that you’ve freed me I can begin to change that. I can make the city great again, but not alone. I need help.” The Knight’s thumb brushes over the base of his ear, “Your help, and your strength to start doing what must be done. I want you to become one of my servants, Jason. A true soldier of the night.”

He shivers at those words and all they imply. There are so many questions he wants to ask in this moment, but only one that seems to truly matter, “Do I actually have a choice?”

“Of course.” The Knight says, looking unhappy that Jason felt the need to ask that. “I’m not a cruel God, Jason. It wasn’t your choice to be given to me, and you’ve already done me a great service in breaking the curse that kept me here, but this, this _is_ your choice. Say no, and I will keep you here in my home, safe from the enemies you made when you freed me yesterday. You will be cared for and comfortable, that I can promise. But if you say yes…” His eyes glint with a fervour, a _passion_ that makes Jason’s stomach turn somersaults, “then I will repay you in kind. I’ll give you the skill and power to fight back against the corruption that brought you to me. To exact justice on those who prey on the helpless and instil fear in any who choose to worship evil.”

Jason feels dizzy. Not from hunger or thirst this time, but the swell of power in the room. The reminder that no matter what the Knight’s outwards appearance wants him to perceive, he’s still dealing with a God here. There’s hunger beneath his words, desire in the depths of his heavy lidded gaze. 

It doesn’t seem like much of a choice. Sure, he can say no, and probably be comfortable for the rest of his life, but what kind of life would it be to remain trapped beneath the earth within these dark walls? A boring one, if it means never being able to feel the wind on his face or see the sunrise ever again, that’s for sure, even if it means he’ll be safe and protected from that thing that’s apparently now out for his blood. But if he says yes… 

Jason can’t deny the part of him, the angry resentful part, that sings solidarity with those words. That wants to actually _do_ what the priests always claimed the Knight did for the city and strike back at the privileged few who grew fat from the suffering of the masses. The slavers, the pimps, the drug traders, and those who turned a blind eye to them in exchange for a cut of the profit. Those who murdered his worthless thug of a father and gave his mother to means with which to slowly kill herself.

Jason breathes in sharply at the thought of it. Realistically, he knows there’s only one choice he can make that will give all the suffering he’s been through any meaning. Only one answer he can give to such a tempting offer. Yet still, he has to be sure.

Chewing his lip, he asks, “If I do this, become your soldier, that means I get to pay back those assholes who threw me down here, right?”

“Yes, Jason.”

“And you mean it, you’ll fix things. Everything. The slavers, the gangs, everything…”

The Knight nods, “Everything. With your help.”

“And the sacrifices. They’ll stop? No more picking names or snatching kids off the street to die for you.”

“My order will be purged and returned to what it was meant to be.” The Knight says, with dark and terrible certainty. It’s a tone that makes Jason’s toes curl, thinking of what that perverted old fuck of a head priest has coming to him. This deal might be worth agreeing to just for that alone, even without all the other potential benefits.

“Then yes.” he says, listening to the angry voice inside his chest and ignoring the heat in the Knight’s eyes that should warn him that there’s more to this deal than has been said on the surface. “So long as you keep that promise, then yes, I’ll do it.”

Jason isn’t sure, but he thinks that might’ve been relief that just passed over the Knight’s face. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Sure.” Jason says awkwardly in response, unsure what to do with the sincerity of that gratitude. It’s not like he has any other choice, he’s just doing what is best for him out of the options on hand, and from what he can gather it’s the same for the Knight; Jason is the only one who made it down here alive, when everyone else before him had drowned. They’re both making do with what they have, why else would he choose someone who’d been a thief and a non-believer most of his life to take what sounds like an honoured position? “So, uh, how does this work? Is there a contract I’m supposed to sign, or -”

The Knight kisses him.

It happens in an instant. One moment Jason is talking, the next his face is guided upwards by the hand on his jaw, raised to meet the heated press of lips on his own. He makes some kind of startled noise in the back of his throat as his hand latches onto the front of the Knight’s shirt. He means to push him away, to demand an explanation, but instead sudden heat coils in his stomach like a snake, sinking fangs of _desire_ into his veins, and Jason ends up closing his eyes as the kiss deepens, parting his lips with a soft whimper that allows the Knight’s tongue to slip into his mouth and rake over the ridges of his teeth.

He can’t breathe, can’t fight. Can’t even seem to think in this moment, as another large hand slips down to curl around his hip and drag him forwards. It feels _good_ , in a way none of the few brief kisses he’s experienced before now ever did.

“You know,” The Knight murmurs, when he eventually pulls back from the kiss and Jason’s brain is still scrabbling to keep up. “You might be the first I’ve ever taken into my service who tried to kill me on sight.”

Jason’s too dazed to think of an immediate response. He can still feel his lips tingling from the kiss, and taste the Knight’s tongue in his mouth. It’s a taste he can’t identify, as much as he tries to think of a comparison: something dark and heavy, and above all else, _powerful_.

“You...” He finally manages, still struggling to keep up with what’s happening. “…that was your fault, you surprised me.”

The Knight smiles again, and Jason feels his heart ratchet up a beat. He’s already handsome in ways that defy explanation, but when he smiles it’s like the stars come out, painting over the alien gravity of his features and turning them into something much more human.

With time, Jason thinks he could come to live for that smile.

“Is that all it takes?”

“You live on Gotham’s streets for a while, see how paranoid _you_ get.”

There’s that laugh, brief and warm and just a little bit sad before he leans down and kisses Jason again. “When I’m done with you, Jason, I promise no one will ever be able to sneak up on you ever again.”

“Not even you?” He finds himself asking, instead of any of the hundred other questions he should be voicing right now.

The hand on his jaw slides down his neck to his throat, and the Knight’s smile lingers. “Correction, _except_ for me.”

This time when they kiss Jason’s expecting it, and he moans, lifting his arms up to wrap them around the Knight’s shoulders. He has no idea what he’s doing, or why it feels so natural to give in, but he’s already hard in his breeches and wanting. Fighting this feels like it would be a futile battle, and not one worth the strain. Not when the outcome is so -

Jason gasps as the Knight’s mouth leaves his, kissing down to his throat before sinking his teeth into the vulnerable flesh there. Both his hands are now at Jason’s waist, keeping him in place as he tries to buck and writhe forwards away from the wall where he’s been pushed. Only the blanket around his shoulders keeps his back from being ground completely back against the hard stone. “Oh fuck…”

“Easy.” The Knight murmurs, “You’re all right.”

“You just…” he swallows, “You didn’t mention this was…”

He pulls back, straightens up and looks down at Jason, “Do you wish me to stop?”

Jason breathes for a moment, meeting his eyes. The idea of him stopping is... he shakes his head. “No.”

“Then I won’t.” Jason gasps as he finds himself being lifted up away from the floor. The Knight slips one arm around his back to keep the blanket from slithering off his shoulders again and hooks the other underneath his legs, sweeping him into what is most definitely a bridal hold as he carries Jason over to the waiting bed.

The mattress doesn’t make a sound when the Knight lays Jason down on top of it, with the blanket spread out underneath him. Viscous black against midnight blue. Jason feels the silk of it against his skin, but his attention is only for the God above him, and the eyes that sweep possessively down his body, mapping over his naked chest - bare of paint ever since he hit the water - and then lower still to his legs and groin; the erection straining up against the fabric of his breeches.

Jason swallows. His throat is suddenly dry, as if he’s dying of thirst all over again. Somehow he resists the urge to cover his chest up with his arms, instead knotting his fingers in the fabric underneath him as he covers up his nerves with bravado, the same way he always does, “What? You just gonna look?”

“I might.” The Knight murmurs, contradicting his own words by skimming his fingertips over Jason’s belly. “It’s been a long time since I had an offering as exquisite as you, Jason.”

Heat burns into his cheeks, but Jason knows they’re just words meant to sooth him. In reality he’s nothing special. “Well, you just told me you wouldn’t stop, so unless you want me to call you a liar…”

The Knight looks at him again, amused, though there’s something behind it, something in his eyes that makes Jason wonder if mind reading isn’t within the realms of possibility for a God as well. He shakes his head, says, “No Jason. Never that.” and then climbs onto the bed after him. Jason feels the mattress sink beneath the added weight, before his mouth is claimed in another heated kiss, and though he tries to move back against it with clumsy, inexperienced pushes of his own tongue, it’s clear that the Knight is the one in charge here. 

He lifts his hands from the sheets and settles them on the Knight’s shoulders, shivering as a large hand caresses down and then back up his chest, before stopping to rub a thumb over one of his nipples. It feels odd, no one’s ever touched him there before, and good in ways he didn’t expect. Jason gasps into the kiss, starts as his nipple is pinched, then moans as the Knight’s knee pushes between his legs. He rolls his hips up against it, panting as soon as the kiss breaks. 

The Knight’s lips trail back down to his neck, then lower, still, down to his chest. Those fingers are replaced by a warm wet mouth, and Jason bites his lip, trying to hold back the whimper that wants to come out. “Oh God… I…”

“Bruce will do.” The Knight replies, speaking against his chest, and it’s so unexpected that Jason actually lets out a mildly hysterical laugh.

“Bruce?”

“Bruce.” he confirms, rubbing his fingers over Jason’s hip.

Jason supposes that makes sense. Gods must have names too, the same as mortals, not just titles. He’s heard that the Sky-God is also called Kal-El in the city of Metropolis, and that the Warrior Goddess is named Diana by her worshippers on the island of Themyscira. But even in Gotham, the city that claimed to be the most devout to the Dark Knight, he’s never heard the name Bruce spoken before.

“All right,” he licks his lips, mostly relieved at not being told to call him ‘my lord’ or anything stupid like that, “Bruce, then.”

There’s the smile, bestowed upon him like a reward, and Jason feels his whole body keen towards it as fingers hook in the stained fabric of his breeches to pull them down off of his lifted hips. His cheeks flush red again as Bruce throws the ruined garment to one side, then runs his hands down the outside of Jason’s thighs as he goes back to kissing and licking at his chest. The way he touches him… there’s a single-minded focus to his attention, like he can’t get enough of the taste of Jason’s skin. Like he won’t be satisfied until he’s explored every inch of his body and claimed it as his.

That thought makes Jason gasp, even before Bruce’s mouth moves lower, abandoning his nipples for the smooth expanse of his stomach. Pausing to trace the old scar from a knife wound an older kid gave him shortly after his mother died and they were fighting over a piece of stolen bread. Then he’s sliding lower down his body still, and Jason’s eyes widen as he realises what Bruce’s goal is, “I… wait...”

“Shh.”

His mouth clamps shut, and Jason grips tighter at the wide expanse of Bruce’s shoulders, just in time as he presses a kiss along the hard length of his cock and pulls Jason’s legs further apart so that he can settle between them. Jason bites his lip, hard enough to make it bleed as he arches back against the bed with a stuttered cry. He’s only ever touched himself before, never known another’s hand, let alone what it’s like to have a hot mouth wrapped around him, lips and tongue working up and down his shaft like Bruce is now.

Jason whimpers, keeps biting his lip, and eventually his hand when that gets too sore. He feels like he may die after all if Bruce keeps going like this. He actually cries out around his fingers when that skillful tongue focuses on the head of his cock, then outright sobs at the brush of fingers against his balls. He’s dizzy, out of his depth, and it’s so, so good after all the agony and pain he’s suffered that Jason knows he’s not going to last long at all. 

“Bruce… Bruce… please, I can’t…” he says, managing to unlock his teeth from around his knuckle. “I…”

That mouth stops, and he cries out for the loss of it as Bruce lifts his head to look at him again. His eyes are dark and hungry, enough to send pleasant chills racing up the length of Jason’s spine. “I know. It’s okay, Jason.” Then he takes him in again, deep and all at once, and all Jason can do is arch back, his eyes fixated on the blue canopy over the bed as he moans, hips trying to buck up against the impossible power of Bruce’s grip until he comes in his mouth with a dry sob.

Jason loses track of things for a little while after that, drifting on the pleasant buzzing in his veins. He feels the bed dip, and creak, before Bruce’s lips are on his again, filling his mouth with the taste of his own seed as his legs are guided wider apart. “Jason...”

There’s a hand between his legs, and Jason shivers at the first brush of a finger against his hole. It feels wet, and slick - with what he can’t imagine. Only he knows he wants it, and tries to communicate that to Bruce by pushing his mouth clumsily back against his. He’s already agreed to give himself over to him, so Jason doesn’t know what other permission he could possibly be waiting for.

It seems to be enough. That finger pushes in and he shudders: the sensation is not unpleasant, just… strange. He’s still boneless and drifting from his own orgasm, which must be making it easier, and all Jason can do to loosely drape his arms around his God’s neck as he prepares him. One finger becomes two, then three, and the feeling does turn a little more uncomfortable the further they go. But Bruce plies him with kisses as soon as he starts to tense up, distracting him until Jason relaxes again, and eventually his hips rock back against Bruce’s fingers when they push against something inside him that makes his vision of the world shake out of the corners of his eyes.

“Please…” Jason says eventually between kisses, when it feels like they’ve been at this for hours and he’s hard again, cock straining against the space between them. He’s signing over his soul and he no longer cares. “Please, Bruce.”

There’s a shudder in the large form above Jason before those fingers withdraw, prompting him to whimper at the loss. “Say my name, Jason. Keep saying my name, just like that.”

The world blurs again, and when it comes back into focus Bruce is finally just as naked as Jason is. Jason’s eyes widen at the sight of all that bare skin, and he reaches, hesitating only for a moment before putting his hands on Bruce’s chest to explore the definition of his muscle. He might inhumanly perfect to look at, but he still reacts like a normal person would, gasping when Jason experimentally brushes his thumb across one of his nipples in mimicry of what was done to him earlier.

“Later.” Bruce says heavily, when he catches his hand to stop him from going any further. It sounds like a promise, which is the only reason why Jason doesn’t mind too much at being denied the chance to explore him now.

But before he can voice his agreement, Jason finds himself being pulled up from the bed and guided to sit across Bruce’s lap. He knows he’s gaping a little at the change in position, but he’s not complaining either, not when he feels the head of Bruce’s cock nudge against him. He should be nervous, afraid even, but he’s not. He just… he just _wants_ Bruce, with a powerful inescapable need _,_ and before he can think too much deeper into that Bruce is fulfilling his desire, pushing into Jason as he guides his hips down. Not stopping until Jason is fully seated in his lap.

It’s more… much more than his fingers were. More than… Jason moans, lifting his hand to bite into it again, but Bruce seizes his wrist to stop him. “No.” he says heavily, _fiercely_. “I want to hear you, Jason. I want to hear you say my name.”

“Bruce.” He says hoarsely, watching as Bruce kisses the back of his hand, tongues the depressions his teeth left in the skin there before, then drags his tongue over the cut on his index finger. The one Jason gave himself when he tested the bat-shaped blade he found in Bruce’s cabinet. “Bruce…”

“ _Yes_.” Bruce says, eyes gone dark as he looks at Jason. He lets his finger slide back out of his mouth, then kisses Jason again on the lips as a reward before putting both of his hands on his hips. Jason gasps when Bruce guides him up, then slowly pulls him back down. Something sparks deep inside him, and by now he’s too far gone to feel any kind of shame at the way he shudders and moans. “That’s it.”

Bruce goes slow at first, easing Jason into it, and after a while Jason tries to move with him, to lift himself before realising that isn’t what he wants. The hands on his hips are immovable, controlling. Bruce is the one guiding him, the one determining what Jason gets out of this and… and he’s strangely okay with that. There’s this strange thrill that rears up inside his chest at the surrender of his control; knowing that he doesn’t have to worry about any of it. That Bruce has him; mind, body and soul. All Jason has to do is say his name and take what is given.

“Bruce!” He gasps, at almost every thrust inside him. Every brush against that place that makes him want to scream. _Bruce,_ when their lips meet. _Bruce_ when his God’s teeth and tongue go to his neck, marking him further. His veins are singing with it: the ritual of pleasure and power in the room. Jason’s head falls back, and he sobs when one of Bruce’s hands transfers from his hip to his cock. It only takes one gentle squeeze before Jason’s coming again, his seed covering both their stomachs as he shouts Bruce’s name up to the ceiling.

Then he finds himself on his back again, with his legs hauled around Bruce’s waist. And it’s… it’s good. He - Bruce - is over him, around him, _inside_ him still, moving faster now. Fucking Jason through the aftermath of his second orgasm, and then, after what feels hours longer, into his own. Jason yells his name again when it happens, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming stimulation and the feeling of Bruce coming inside him. 

Then Bruce’s mouth is on his once more, and Jason tries to kiss back, he really does. But he feels suddenly drained, like he’s run a three-day marathon and all the energy has been sucked out of him. It’s just about all he can do to part his lips and let Bruce’s tongue in, which seems to be enough to please him as he hums into the kiss. Then Bruce pulls away, pulls _out_ , and Jason whimpers at the sudden loss. “Don’t…”

“I’m not.” Bruce is quick to reassure him, his thumb gliding across Jason’s lips as he lays down beside him, then gathers Jason into his arms. “I’m not leaving you alone, Jason. I promise. You’re mine now, do you understand? You’re mine, and so long as that is true, you’ll never be alone.”

The blanket is pulled tightly around him, around them both. Bruce’s arms are strong, and his hold on Jason is as unbreakable as steel. It feels right, good, and Jason can only find it in himself to nod once in response to the claim. He breathes in the scent of Bruce’s skin as his head is pressed in against his neck, feels the heat of his large body wrapped around his own, and the thrumming of the strange new feeling of _belonging_ that has settled into his chest. 

“Rest, Jason.” Bruce murmurs in his ear, and despite his desire to stay awake it’s a command Jason can’t help but obey. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and is out before he’s even finished exhaling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Godly hijinks this week. I swear, I have way too much fun thinking up the mythology for this universe. This story has grown so much from what I originally set out to write as a porny one-shot XD

Jason drifts on the twilight between sleep and waking, held under the veil by a comforting blanket of shadows. And as he drifts, he dreams, of infinite star-speckled skies above him and fathomless oceans below. A world spinning on its axis through the void; a battle that has gone on for aeons already and will span an eternity more, fought by beings beyond his comprehension.

He dreams of bats. Bats flying through the mouth of a cave, the endless flapping of their leather wings an accompaniment to the sound of human voices, belonging to two men meeting and exchanging words in the dark.

The first of the pair is tall and familiar, a monolith in the shape of a human being, with a voice deep and bass. It’s the voice of the deepest part of the night, when even the moon’s light does not penetrate the darkness. And though he has come to know it only recently, that sound already rules Jason’s world, as his body bears its owner’s marks both across his skin and deeper still within his soul.

The second is a stranger. Smaller, his voice lighter and softer than the first - almost drowned out by the flock of bats swirling over his head - but just as magnetic. More like dusk before the onset of true night. He speaks firmly, respectful in tone as he addresses the God before him, but without fear in a way Jason dreamily envies.

“... took too much from him.” The words echo into his ears, unfamiliar in their concern. “You should have let him rest longer first.”

“I couldn’t.” His God replies, “I had no choice. Too much time has passed already.”

“But he’s -”

“He was strong enough. _Is_ strong enough. You’ll see that when he wakes. As strong as you were when you came to me.”

“I’m not arguing that. I’m just concerned that he’s still sleeping. It has been over a day since you woke me. Since -”

“He only needs a little more time, then he’ll wake. You’ll see.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“... Bruce…”

“Yes?”

“I went to the pool. I know what you said, but I had to, and I saw… There’s so many of them. So many...”

“I know.”

“All this time, he’s -

“I _know_ , I felt each of them as they died.” Anger, like an earthquake, seems to shake the cave. “Every last one. And he will pay, for every single death he caused in my name.”

In his sleep, Jason shivers. The twilight dream shifts, transmutes to the gloom of a deep pool, where pale domes rise out of the silt to stare at him with hollowed empty eyes.

Teeth, locked forever in a ghoulish smile, beckon him down to join them. Silently asking _Why you?_ as Jason sleeps safely, wrapped in silk on a God’s bed, while they rest beneath a blanket of salt water, _Why you and not us?_

He has no answer for them, none they’ll accept, and Jason moans in his sleep, terror twisting his brow, stoppering his breath as surely as if he’s drowning all over again when bony fingers reach to grasp at his ankles.

_Why why why -_

He’s choking, dying all over again, when the focus of divinity returns to him, carrying with it soft exasperation and worry before the pieces of his wandering mind are caught and gently guided back to where they should be; tucked back into his skull like a child in their bed. A second later, a warm hand runs through his hair, before strong slender fingers cup the back of his neck and squeeze comfortingly.

“Easy, little brother.” The owner of the second voice is speaking to him now, soothing away the ghosts of his nightmares. “Hush now, it’s all right. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe, nothing can hurt you here.”

 _How do you know? Who are you?_ He wants to ask, but for all that he’s aware, he’s still locked in sleep and the words will not penetrate the firmament over his lips. All he can do is listen and hope. Listen to that voice and its sweet promises before a wave of blue light flashes behind his eyelids and drives both the dead and memory away.

 

***

 

There are clothes waiting beside him on the bed when Jason finally rouses himself from sleep. A strange red tunic and green breeches, with a soft yellow sash to tie around his waist in place of a belt.

Brighter colours than he would have expected to wear after being taken into service by the God of the Night, but he doesn’t question having something new to replace the torn and stained silk breeches the priests gave him to wear before with.

He feels heavy and thick all over as he pulls them on, fingers fumbling over the laces and tying the sash in a clumsy knot, unable to tell if he slept too much or too little. There’s no means by which to know the time or even the day of the week in this underground bedchamber. But at least he didn’t dream, which is one comfort. There is only darkness in his mind between now and…

_Bruce._

Jason swallows. He wonders if the God would come if he called, but holds his tongue. Better not to risk the chance that he won’t.

He sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face to try and clear away the last of the cobwebs. He feels like he’s forgetting something, but has no idea what it could be. Somehow he expected more when he woke up. Though exactly what that means, he couldn’t say. Only after everything this quiet feels bizarre, even unnerving.

It takes him some time to notice the door, but when he does - just like the map on the wall - Jason wonders how he could ever have missed it.

He leaves the bed behind him, fingers tracing the hidden lines in the carved stone. No handle is visible, yet soft light ekes beneath the black steel onto the marble floor of the bedchamber, and when he pushes against the flat metal surface the door swings open almost soundlessly, exposing a corridor lit with blue flaming torches beyond. The light hurts his eyes at first, but Jason blinks steadily, wiping away tears until his vision adjusts.

As so often seems to be the case since he was sacrificed, Jason feels like he’s being led along as he follows the path of the corridor on bare feet. It’s linear, with no twists or turns, until he comes to a staircase going downwards that then passes through a carved archway into an enormous grotto beyond.

Jason comes to a halt as he stares across the great space of the cavern. So huge and open, worn into the rock not by man’s hands but the steady flow of water since time began. Water that flows even now, in great waterfalls from openings in the walls down into a roiling lake below; plummeting with such force that a fine mist clouds the air. There’s the same salt tang here that he remembers from before, making him certain that it is the sea the various rivers end up running into.

At first the sight of the water below makes him nervous, but Jason relaxes when he sees there are thick bridges of stone that run between the various platforms and ledges. Each is wide enough that he can cross them without fear of falling, so long as he takes his time and doesn’t do anything profoundly stupid.

He also sees that he is not alone in the cavern.

The greatest platform - the one Jason’s staircase leads down to - is a wide column of stone, measuring perhaps one hundred feet from one side to the other and smooth on top as if it was sliced free from the rest of the rock by the blade of a giant. It stands in the very center of the grotto; a perfect stage for a dancer. Or a warrior caught up in the exaltation of combat.

For minutes Jason only stands and watches him. The swirl of black and blue cloth, dark hair over gold tinted skin and the twist and thrust of the short sticks in his hands. His breath is held in quiet awe, unwilling to interrupt the display of skill, despite his growing need to know the man’s identity.

Is he a servant? Another god? Was he here before Jason opened the door or did he arrive while he was asleep?

Eventually his curiosity wins out, and Jason continues his descent into the grotto, making sure to stick to the very center of the walkway as he crosses the massive drop underneath the bridge. Despite showing no awareness of his presence before, as soon as his feet make contact with the platform the dancer stops, chest heaving beneath his dark shirt as he stands up straight and looks in Jason’s direction.

Jason could have sworn there was light arcing between his fingertips only a moment ago.

Blue eyes, deeper in shade than Bruce’s, examine him, before a genuine smile of welcome spreads across the stranger’s handsome face. “You’re awake.”

Jason fists his hands in the dangling edge of the yellow sash he wears. He feels awkward and uncertain, distinctly at a disadvantage under that knowing gaze. “Looks that way.”

The man continues to smile before transferring both of the blunt weapons he was practicing with to a sheath on his thigh. “My name is Dick, Dick Grayson,” he offers out a hand, “and you’re Jason, right?”

“Jason Todd, that’s me.” he nods, looking down at that hand first before reluctantly reaching to take it, maintaining the contact only briefly.

Dick’s smile falters, just for a moment, but then it returns stronger than before. “It’s good to meet you finally, Jason. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I - Bruce, we both owe you a lot for what you’ve done.”

Jason jolts at the name, again wondering if just saying it out loud is enough to summon the deity himself. But nothing happens; only he and Dick remain standing in the cave. He swallows, “Where is he?”

“Getting the lay of the land, I believe.” Dick says, scratching the back of his head. “He doesn’t always keep me abreast of his intentions, but he asked that I wait here for you in his place. In case you woke while he was gone.” The intensity of his gaze softens, “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Jason replies shortly. Still a little weak, but the journey down here has helped clear his head somewhat.

“Good. After what happened to you to get here…” Dick trails off, attention going somewhere else for a moment before returning to the present. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions to ask, and I promise I will answer them, but first things first; are you hungry?”

Jason’s initial instinct is to say no, but it must have been at least three days since he last ate something, depending on how long he slept. He learnt how to suppress hunger at a young age, knowing that more often than not there’d be little, if anything, waiting for him when he came to the dinner table, yet now… now he feels suddenly _ravenous_ at the question. Even his stomach rumbles, as if it too has woken up from a long slumber.

“Depends,” he asks, trying to hide his embarrassment at the sound, “What’ve you got?”

“Come and see.”

Dick leads him across a bridge off the central platform, heading over to an alcove carved deep into another rock ledge. There waits a square table, with four carved chairs placed around it. Jason’s mouth waters as soon as he sees the banquet of food laid out on top: bread, fruit, nuts, cheese, and - most luxurious of all - _meat_. Ham, if he’s not mistaken. Jason picks up his pace, almost running past Dick in his haste to reach it, but stops short of actually touching anything, sparing a wary glance back over his shoulder at the man behind him.

“Go on.” Dick nods encouragingly, “Eat as much as you want. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Well, he said it. Jason pulls out one of the chairs and sinks down into it, reaching to pull the nearest plates towards him. The first bite of bread barely registers, and soon the entire cob is gone, devoured. He bites straight into a lump of cheese, before taking a thick slice of ham off the hank with a knife left on the table. He uses the hilt to crush the shells of a nearby dish of walnuts so that he can scoop the kernels into his mouth.

Surprisingly, Dick doesn’t chastise him for his terrible eating habits when he comes back, setting down a cup carved from some kind of animal bone or tusk next to Jason, alongside a jug of water. Jason pours for himself and drains the first cupful immediately, finding his thirst to be just as terrible as his hunger. A second follows, then he’s right back to stuffing his face with food again.

Finally, hunger and thirst ease enough that he can slow down. Jason wipes the ham juices from his chin with the back of his hand and looks up to see Dick looking back at him, taking his time in peeling an apple with a small silver knife. “Better?” He asks Jason, without a hint of mockery and more understanding in his eyes than he would like.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly self-conscious again, Jason sits back in his chair and curls his hands together in his lap. He still has no idea who this guy is, or why Bruce left him here to wait for Jason instead of staying himself.

“Good.” Dick smiles, then slices the apple into quarters before offering half to Jason. “I was worried when you slept so long, but perhaps you’ve always been a deep sleeper.”

“Not usually. Sleeping deep is dangerous where I come from.” Jason admits, plucking the apple slices from his hands. They taste sour on his tongue; the fruit must have been pulled too early from the tree. “These clothes, did you leave them for me?”

“Yes. They were mine once, when I was about your age. Do they fit you well?”

Jason shrugs, feeling the fabric pull against his arms. “They’re all right, I guess, just a little tight on the shoulders.”

“You’re broader than I was then, though not as tall yet.” Dick observes. “I’ll get you some more soon, but they should do for now. Better than what you arrived in, at any rate.”

He nods, then finally asks the question he’s burning to know. “Who are you? Not your name, you told me that, but... Why are you here? How do you know…”

“Bruce? It’s all right to say his name here, Jason. Just be careful how you say it outside the walls of this cave.” Dick chews on his own apple slices for a moment. “As to how we know each other…you and I do not have dissimilar stories in that respect.”

Jason’s eyes widen. “You were a sacrifice too?! But Bruce said he has been locked here for over a hundred years, and everyone they sent into the cave before me _died_.”

“In a way. And yes, he has been, and they did.” Dick confirms, his eyes dropping down to the table. Grief shows openly on his face for a moment. “But I came here to him long before any of that.”

“How can that be?” He doesn’t understand, “You’re human, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be…”

“Dead?”

Jason flushes, but nods.

“Becoming one of the Knight’s disciples is not without its benefits, little brother. Life beyond human measure is part of that.”

For a moment Jason is caught on the title Dick bestows upon him - both of them - but he pushes past that confusion for now, focusing on what seems to be the more important question. “Wait. are you... are you saying you’re immortal?”

Does that mean Jason is now immortal too? He doesn’t feel different in any significant way. Even his earlier appetite did not feel out of bounds from anything he’s experienced before. If he changed sometime in his sleep, he missed it on waking.

Dick smiles, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Only to an extent. Our bodies do not age, but we are not Gods you and I. Not like Bruce. We’re still bound to some human weaknesses: thirst, hunger, and so on. We can’t survive a mortal wound either - though our foes might find it harder to land a blow on us than most.”

Jason swallows. He didn’t know he was signing up for that when he agreed to help Bruce.

He didn’t know he was signing up for a great many things.

“If that’s true, then how did you survive a hundred years locked down here?”

Dick sets down the little silver knife and his remaining apple slice. The somber look is back on his face, and Jason almost regrets asking him the question - though not enough to take it back.

“I slept.” Dick says eventually, “That’s the short answer.”

“Like the princess in the story?”

Dick laughs unexpectedly, though Jason blushes, feeling young and foolish for letting the reference slip out, “Sort of, though sadly I didn’t need a kiss to be woken. Once it became clear that we weren’t going to be able to break the curse from inside, Bruce took steps to ensure I’d survive. I was the only one…” he looks down. “the only who did. The only one of the true faith left before it became corrupted. Until you came along, that is.”

Jason cringes. “I’m not - I didn’t really believe in him. Not until I met him anyway.”

“But you believe now, right?”

“Obviously. It’s kind of hard not to when…” he trails off. Heat floods Jason’s face as the memory of his encounter with Bruce comes back to him in vivid detail, accompanied by the ghostly echo of his touches on his skin.

When he looks across at Dick, there’s a sly edge to the older man’s smile that suggests he knows exactly what he’s thinking about. Jason doesn’t like the look of it one bit. Not because he’s ashamed exactly, but because it feels private, _sacred_ maybe, and so for there to be someone else who knows what happened between them feels like an incursion.

Did Bruce initiate all his disciples in that same way, or was it just him? Did Dick know his touch too in the same ways Jason did? He wants to know, but not enough to brave the question. Not yet anyway.

“Then that’s what matters. You believe now, and he took you into his service. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think you were worthy.”

“You still haven’t answered my first question.” Jason reminds him, wanting to push past it. “Who are _you_? You said you were a sacrifice ‘in a way’. What does that mean?”

Dick chews his lip at his persistence, “You’re not going to be satisfied with anything less than the full tale, are you?”

“Would you be?” Jason counters, folding his arms across his chest and letting his irritation show openly on his face. “After all the shit I’ve been through, I think I deserve some straight answers from _somebody_. And you said you’ answer my questions.”

Dick grimaces again at the reminder, before tipping his head forwards in agreement. “You’re right, I did. And you do. All right. Come on, I’ll tell you, but not here.”

“Why not?”

Dick smiles as he stands up from the table. “Because in my experience, stories are always better told out in the open air.”

Jason’s eyes widen. He can’t keep the sudden hunger from his voice as he asks, “You mean...”

“We’re going outside the cave.” Dick confirms knowingly, gesturing for Jason to follow him.

It’s been at least three days since he last saw the sun or the moon - even discounting the time in which he apparently slept. Three days since he smelt fresh air or felt the wind on his face.

Accepting a God of the Night’s rule didn’t change everything for Jason, and the oppressiveness of hundreds of feet of rock hanging over his head is one such thing. Now that Dick’s mentioned that it’s possible to leave, he wants to get out of the cave again with the entirety of his being; he wants proof that he’s no longer trapped and doomed to die beneath the earth.

Dick leads the way again through the cave, out of the grotto and through corridors that twist and turn. Eventually they come to a carved doorway, and Jason recognises it as the one he forced open to free Bruce, with its bats and ancient glyphs engraved on the metal and stone. It opens without a struggle this time when Dick pushes on the handle, and when Jason looks down at the ground before the threshold he sees that the ugly smile that once marred the cave floor has been completely scoured away. A much cleaner job than his own hasty scratches.

Bruce’s work or Dick’s? He doesn’t ask, even though he wonders.

“Jason?”

“I’m fine.” he mutters, realising he’s been hesitating before stepping through. He’s not at all fine, remembering that ugly green light and the malevolent presence that accompanied it, but he doesn’t want to show weakness in front of Dick. There is one question he needs to ask however. “I just… we won’t have to go by the pool to get out of here, will we?”

The moment the words leave his lips, Dick freezes, before his hands clench into fists next to his thighs and he looks down at the ground. “No. No we won’t. There are many ways out of the cave. We don’t have to use that one.”

“Right, I… good.” Jason scratches over the back of his hand, across the scars the bat clawed into his skin.

“Jason, are you sure -”

“I said I’m fine. Let’s go.”

But the moment Dick’s back is turned, he spits upon the ground where the unholy mark once was before following after him, hoping that somewhere the demon feels his scorn.

Where their path differs from the one he walked down before, Jason can’t tell. That first journey was a nightmare, suffered alone with the surety he would die at the end of it, but this time he has Dick with him as well as the crystal’s light, and that’s a comfort as the tunnel they follow continues to climb in altitude, until Jason smells fresh air and hears the crash of waves from outside. A minute later he catches his first glimpse of the moon’s light through a tear in the rock, which Dick beckons him to follow him in squeezing through.

Jason gasps as he steps out of the cave, breathing in deep as cold crisp air fills his lungs. The first thing he sees is the sea, which covers all the world below them, while above his head there is the steep rise of a cliff. This exit turns out to be little more than a worn ledge on its side, climbable perhaps if he cared to try, but wondrous now in its own right simply for giving Jason the luxury of open sky over his head rather than heavy stone. Sea birds sleep on nearby rocky outcroppings with their heads tucked beneath their wings, uncaring for the presence of the two humans invading their sanctuary.

At least now Jason can guess what time it is, if not what day.

“Easy,” Dick guides him to sit down on the ledge before he can grow too overwhelmed and lose his balance, then takes the space beside Jason for his own. He seems to have little concern for bodily contact, as he lets their thighs press together, warm against the cool night air. “You don’t want to fall, little brother. Remember, you are immortal now in only some ways.”

Jason shivers at the reminder. He takes a few moments simply to absorb the sight of the moon and ocean; heaving in one deep breath of fresh salt air after another; bracing himself against the push and pull of the wind curling around his limbs and through his hair. The yellow sash of his outfit flaps against his thigh, and Jason swallows gratefully at knowing he’s outside, outside in a world he never thought he’d see again.

Now he knows what Dick meant earlier, and wonders if it wasn’t kindness more than preference that led him to bring Jason out here to tell his story.

When Jason cranes his head to look to the south he can see the dim lights of Gotham only a few miles down the coast from where they sit: his home. Their home, he supposes. At such a distance it doesn’t look so terrible a place, but he remembers all too well the filth and degradation ruling her streets. Particularly in the black shape of the temple sitting at the city’s center.

He breaks his eyes away from the sight of Gotham and back to Dick, who is looking upwards into the night sky with an almost wistful focus.

“So?” Jason says, prompting him to begin.

Dick, not feeling the same impetus Jason does to begin, takes a few minutes more to consider his words before starting to tell his tale.

“I guess the first thing you need to know is that this conflict you’ve walked into, it’s much older than you or even me. Older even than Bruce. Good Gods, bad Gods; demons and beings of light, so on and so forth, they’re constant, locked in an eternal war. Sometimes the good side is winning, sometimes the bad. It’s a cycle, and though we fight to end it, mostly we’re just fighting to keep the scales tipped towards our side as long as possible.

“Those scales were tipped towards evil when I came to Gotham, the same as they are now. It was long before you were born. I was a little older than you are now, a child of acrobats born and raised in the circus. We travelled all over the world, performing everywhere that would have us. For the peasants in the fields and the kings in their courts…” Dick smiles, his eyes glazed with memories, “It was a good life for a young boy to live, for as long as it lasted.”

Jason listens. He already has questions, but waits for Dick to go on in the interest of getting the full story. The circus background at least explains the clothes he’s wearing; they’re similar to what the acrobats who perform in the marketplace sometimes wear.

“Gotham was as bad a place then as it is now. Everyone in our troupe knew that, but at the same time it was too profitable to simply pass by. Our ringmaster made the choice that we would go, we would perform, but that we would be careful too, and not leave our tents and caravans on the outskirts for the city’s interior. Good precautions we all thought, but we underestimated the depravity of the men who were running Gotham’s streets at the time. One of them demanded a tithe, illegally of course, for our right to remain there unmolested by the gangs and other criminals. Our ringmaster refused to be intimidated though; he said no. He said no…”

Dick trails off for a moment. Jason licks his lips, having a feeling he knows what lines the story will run along then. “And then?”

“... and then my life changed forever. My parents and I, we performed a special act. We were trapeze artists, do you know what that is?”

Jason, who has never seen a real circus performance, shakes his head.

“It’s an act performed hanging from ropes at the roof of the circus tent. Swinging across the heads of the crowd, somersaulting through the air; as close to flying as it’s possible for a mortal to get.” Dick lifts his hands, miming holding a bar above his head. “You swing out, no tether, no second chance if you miss your mark. It was our speciality to do it without a net. The man who demanded the tithe knew this, and so he snuck into the tent when we were sleeping, sawing partway through one of the ropes. Enough that it would eventually snap once enough weight and strain was put upon it.

“They fell.” Dick says softly then. “Both of my parents. I saw it happen, watched the whole thing from the sidelines. I watched and I knew what happened. I watched and I knew that there would be no justice for them, not from the ‘lawful’ men who ran the city.”

“What did you do?” Jason asks, enraptured as much as he is horrified by the tale. A soft pricking itch running under his skull: the first inkling of familiarity.

“Tried to take revenge myself of course.” Dick smiles to himself, shaking his head. “It was a stupid move. I was a talented acrobat, true, but not a warrior, and woefully unprepared for what the city was then. Monsters controlled the hearts of the populace and Bruce was weakened by the lack of faith as the population despaired. Needless to say, my attempt failed, and I only barely escaped with my life.”

“So then how did you end up with Bruce?”

“I was coming to that.” Dick nudges their legs more firmly together, as if he needs the reassurance more than Jason does. “I got desperate. Weeks had passed, the circus had moved on without me - maybe they thought I was dead or taken by slavers - and I had no money or resources left, but I knew of the Dark Knight, the same as I knew of the Sky God and the Amazon Princess. His worship extends beyond Gotham, though the city is the center of it. At first I visited the shrines - there was no true temple back then - and tried to make offerings, but it didn’t… it didn’t feel right. Like I was wasting my time. But finally, after pestering the priests who maintained those shrines, I was told about the cave that was meant to be his home.

“I don’t think anyone else but me could have made the climb down without falling. Even for me it took hours to descend, going slow and careful. I stepped into the dark willingly once I reached the bottom, carrying my torch until it burnt out. Then I called his name; I asked for help, for justice. The chance to set things right. And he heard me.”

Jason’s eyes grow wide in his face. “You’re… you’re _him_. You’re the boy who sacrificed himself to the Bat. The one who -”

Dick grins, brimming with sudden pleasure. “So I see my story isn’t completely forgotten.”

“Holy shit.” Jason whispers. “My mom, she useta… she’d tell me that one all the time, back when she could. It was her favourite.” And his, but he’s not about to admit it to Dick’s face. “That you gave your life willingly, to save the city.”

“In a fashion.” Dick agrees. He puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder, “That’s what our enemy has made the people forget, Jason. Sacrifice comes in many forms, it doesn’t always - and shouldn’t have to - mean _death_.”

After meeting a god, meeting a living legend shouldn’t be so strange, yet Jason still feels cowed and in awe. Shamed even, for his earlier hostility towards him.

“I gave my life to him, and I did it by _living_.” He continues. “Just the same as you have.”

Just as when Dick implied him as one of the true faith, Jason feels uncomfortable suddenly, fraudulent. Guilty even, despite his own lack of choice when it came to arriving at this point. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I know I’m supposed to help him, he promised me justice, but I thought…”

He thought Bruce would be there to explain the details to him when he woke. Or that he’d just _know_ as a part of their bargain. A fool’s belief perhaps, to think that a God would be so indulgent to one boy when the city he protects lies unbalanced outside the walls of this cave. Instead, he feels just as lost and overwhelmed as he did before. Especially now, looking out over the endless expanse of the ocean stretching out to the horizon in front of him. Just as sure the waves crash against the rock below, melancholy washes over Jason with the oppressive weight of all that’s happened to him in so short a span of time.

He’s just a street kid, what the hell is he doing in the hall of a god and sitting next to someone like Dick?

“Hey…”

Dick removes his hand from Jason’s shoulder, but a moment later his arm is wrapped around the entirety of his body instead, pulling him in against the older man’s side. Jason goes still, eyes widening at the sudden contact. “What… what are you doing?”

“Hugging you.” Dick says calmly, “It’s a thing people do. Or at least they did in my day. I hope that hasn’t changed.”

“Yeah, I know what a hug is. I meant, why are you hugging _me_.”

“You looked like you needed it.” He keeps Jason pressed close, despite his lack of reciprocation. “I know this is a lot to take in, Jason, and I can’t promise you this life you’ve chosen will be an easy one, but I can tell you that you won’t be alone. Bruce and I are here, and we’ll teach you everything we know. That’s what you’ve signed up for, to be part of something bigger than yourself.”

Jason hasn’t been held by anyone since his mother died. Not really. Everything since then had been hard or purposefully hurtful. A world of sharp edges and living on a razor wire, at least until Bruce came along. But even that passionate experience was different from this - simple contact offered without expectation of anything in return.

It feels nice.

“Will you teach me to move like you do? Like what you were doing back in the cave?” Jason asks, searching for a distraction through the sudden thickness of his throat. He still doesn’t move to hug Dick back, or even relax against him really, but he doesn’t pull away from the contact either. “That was incredible.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Dick chuckles, openly proud of his skill. “That and more, Jason. You’ll see. We won’t let you go out unprepared.”

“Unprepared for what?”

“To turn back the tide.”

They both jump at Bruce’s deep voice behind them. Jason far more than Dick, who tightens his grip around his shoulders to make sure he doesn’t accidentally slip off the edge of the cliff. Together they turn round to look at the God behind them, and all at once Jason’s breath catches in his chest.

It’s Bruce, but not as he saw him last. This time the God is - in every way - the Dark Knight from the stories Jason’s mother would tell him, clad head to toe in black armour, with the night cloak flowing from his shoulders, absorbing all light into its folds. The helm Jason found before is held in the crook of his arm, tucked in against his waist as Bruce impassively regards the two young men sitting on the ground in front of him.

Jason shivers, rendered speechless even as Dick sighs, speaking candidly as if Bruce is just as a man rather than a deity. “Did you have to do that? Would it have killed you to walk up behind us like a normal person, Bruce?”

“I knew you wouldn’t fall.” Bruce’s words are directed at Dick, but his pale eyes are fixed on Jason. “You’re awake.”

Jason’s fingers find the fabric of his sash, curling tightly into it as he nods. All words seem to fail him suddenly, and perhaps that’s a good thing. His muteness seems to reach the God where Dick’s biting comment didn’t, because Bruce’s expression changes, turning softer around the edges until he looks more like the man Jason remembers taking him into his arms and kissing him rather than a force of nature. He can feel the heat creeping back into his face the longer Bruce watches him.

“Good.” He says eventually, while Dick’s hand remains a steadying presence for Jason. “Come inside, both of you. There are things we need to discuss.”

Then he turns around, his cape swirling behind him, and Jason _swears_ he doesn’t blink, but still he misses the exact moment Bruce disappears from sight. “Did he…”

“Vanish? Yes. He does that a lot, and he won’t say it, but I’m sure he does it because he thinks it’s funny.” Dick snorts beside him, before gently tugging Jason to scoot backwards away from the cliff edge. “Come on, little brother. Let’s go see what he wants.”

This time, Jason doesn’t hesitate to take his hand when it’s offered to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while since I updated this one, huh? I'll try not to make it so long until the next chapter. However it does feel appropriate to post this today, since American Gods started yesterday (which is an adaption of my favourite book _ever_ , omg. Please check it out if you haven't already). Hope you all enjoy XD

With a little more familiarity this time around, Jason follows Dick back into the depths of the cave, leaving the alluring sight and sound of the open world behind him once more. The stone feels warm beneath his toes, and he makes the jumps and climbs with more confidence than he did before, forgoing the help of Dick’s hand to bridge the more difficult gaps even when it’s offered to him.

The other boy — man, really, simply smiles at his actions, as if he’s more proud of Jason for his boldness than offended by his refusal. Jason only slightly wants to hit him for it.

It isn’t until they’ve reached the main door back into Bruce’s sanctuary that he finally notices something is different.

“Dick.” Jason stops, looking around him at the walls of the tunnel.

“Yes?”

“The crystals, they’re not glowing.”

Resting one hand on his hip, Dick’s smile widens. “Nope.”

“But it’s not dark.” 

He’s casting about, trying to detect where the new light source is coming from when Dick chuckles. Jason looks up at the sound, frowning. “What?”

“I told you,” Dick’s eyes sparkle with mischief, the delight of someone about to share a secret. “Long life isn’t the only benefit that comes with serving Bruce, little brother.”

It takes Jason a few seconds to process what he means by that. “Wait, You mean I... I can see in the dark now?”

“No children of the Bat shall fear the night.”

It sounds like he’s quoting scripture, the same way one of the city priests Jason has so recently come to utterly despise would. Though the effect is ruined somewhat by the way Dick keeps on grinning as he drinks in Jason’s astonished reaction (and that he really does want to punch him for). “Holy shit…” he whispers.

“Mmhm.”

“Holy shit, I can…”

Dick lets him have another minute to adjust to the news before clapping his hand over Jason’s shoulder and leading him on again. Dick’s fingers feel unseasonably warm through the fabric of his tunic. “Come on, Jason, let’s not keep Bruce waiting.”

Still, the thought echoes, _I can see in the dark._

Down in the main cavern, that strange platformed grotto with the underground rivers plummeting into its depths, Bruce is stood waiting for them, next to a great black marble slab of a table that Jason is completely sure wasn’t there when they left earlier.

“You took your time.”

“Well, you know, some of us don’t have the luxury of teleporting. We have to go by the scenic route.” Dick replies confidently, while Jason hangs back, unsure if the remark was meant as a rebuke or not. Bruce simply snorts though, like a real person and not a God, and as he steps up next to him Jason lets Dick’s confidence be his guide to follow suit.

“Uh, hey…”

Bruce’s head turns, tilting down towards him, and Jason almost quivers under the intensity of his gaze. Almost. But then the hard expression gentles, just the same as it did when they were up on the cliff together, and he feels himself relax again. It’s all right. He’s all right. There’s nothing here for him to be afraid of.

“Jason.” Bruce nods to him, voice low, but not in that deep earth-shaking tone he used before. It’s softer, and he has a peculiar look on his face, “I want to…” Do all Gods hesitate in moments like these, or is it just him? “apologise. For not being with you when you woke up today. There were other things I had to take care of. The city...”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Jason says quickly, wondering if Bruce has been thinking about that the entire time it took him and Dick to make their way down here. “It’s um… no big deal.” 

He doesn’t expect the heavy hand on the back of his neck, nor the rush of heat that comes with it. Jason’s body keens with the memory of the last time Bruce touched him, much to his embarrassment. And when Bruce looks down at him, Jason is sure he sees the ghost of a smile on his lips again.

“So long as you are well.”

“I’m fine.” He repeats, caught on looking at those lips for a moment (lips that kissed his own, his body, that whispered words to him like he was important, like he _meant_ something) before he swallows, fidgeting in place and staring down at his bare feet. It takes some effort to make himself look up again. “So, uh, what’s going on, boss man?”

Bruce’s eyebrows raise at the informal tone of address, and beside him Dick looks like he’s doing his best to hold in laughter. “Oh yes.” he says, smiling as he rests his hands on his hips again, body angled forward in a cocky arc, “I definitely like this one, B.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asks suspiciously, hating the feeling that there’s a joke going on between them that he doesn’t know about. A feeling that is backed up when Dick just shakes his head and winks at him instead of giving an actual answer.

“Don’t worry about it, Jay.”

_Jay?_ With Dick, it seems like the nicknames just keep on coming. And Jason is reminded that he still hasn’t asked him what ‘little brother’ is all about. But now, with Bruce scowling across at Dick again, hardly seems the time to bring it up. “Dick.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Dick holds up his hands with a smile. Water spray from the nearby waterfalls glistens like diamonds on his cheeks. “I’m all ears, Bruce, I swear. Go ahead.”

Bruce watches him a moment longer, then nods, letting go of Jason’s neck before gesturing towards the table.

Just like the wall in Bruce’s bed chamber, there’s a map of Gotham inscribed in silver on the surface of the black stone. Jason reaches out, unable to stop himself yet again from tracing the places he knows. The abandoned outskirts that up until only a few days ago had been his home.

“As you know, I’ve been familiarising myself with the city as she is now,” Bruce begins, “And assessing the full extent of the damage that has been done in my absence.”

Jason half expects another lighthearted interruption from Dick, but when he glances at his face, it’s dark and serious. The joviality that was there only seconds ago melted away.

“It’s even worse than I first thought. Corruption has become rife among both the nobility and the priesthood. Their prayers and rites are empty of belief; my religion is now nothing more than a path to power for those ambitious enough to take it.”

“And the people?” Dick asks.

“A few still have faith, but most speak empty words. They say the prayers because they’re expected, habit, but they don’t really believe in what they’re saying. In _me_. Not when faced with the reality they’ve come to live in.” Bruce frowns, and for a moment it seems to Jason that the shadows around them grow darker. “ _He_ has done his job well. It’s not just the sacrifices,” his eyes go to Jason, who keeps his face carefully controlled, suppressing the shiver that wants to run through him. “it’s everything. The very heart of the city has been twisted, made evil.”

“I coulda told you that.” Jason mutters. They both look at him,and he shrugs. “What? It is. Rich and powerful get what they want, and the rest of us scrabble for table scraps while trying to stay out of their way.”

“That’s… bleak.”

“It’s reality.” Jason tells Dick, meeting his gaze evenly. “How else d’you think I ended up down here?”

Dick opens his mouth to argue, but Bruce shakes his head, cutting him off. “Jason’s right. That is Gotham now, which is why it’s even more important that we begin working to fix the situation as soon as possible.”

Jason feels a brief flush of pleasure at Bruce backing him up. “And how do we do that?”

“By removing those responsible from their positions of power, and seeing that those who can do right move into them instead.”

Bruce leans forward, placing his hands on the table. The lines of the map shimmer, and under Jason’s amazed gaze, certain sections and buildings begin to glow. He recognises the temple, of course. Some other buildings too, important places, like the fort that’s the base for the City Guard and the courthouse. Others however, are unfamiliar, located in parts of the city Jason doesn’t expect.

“These are the centres. Places where the city’s pollution stems from, and where our enemies have made their nests.”

Jason reaches out to touch one gleaming structure by the water’s edge. “That’s Penguin’s place.”

Dick snorts. “Why am I not surprised old fish bucket made his way back into town while we were gone.”

“Him and others.”

“Old—wait, you know him?” Jason asks, surprise widening his eyes. 

“Cobblepot is one of our enemies.” Bruce confirms.

Jason thinks about this for a moment. Bruce and Dick were supposed to — by their own words — have been bound to this cave for over a century, so if they knew Penguin before that, that means… he searches his memory. For as long as he can remember, Penguin has run the nobleman's club by the bay. Ostensibly a place where wealthy gentlemen went to sit and enjoy a drink whilst engaging in important discussions, its seedy underbelly was an open secret throughout the city. Behind those walls Jason knows lurks a hive of slavery, racketeering, prostitution, and worse. 

He’s never been inside the club himself, but he’d come close once. Running messages between gangs was an easy way for an orphan street kid to earn coin outside of begging and thieving, and so Jason had tried it a couple of times for Penguin before the strange smells coming out the back of the building and the leering glances of the men guarding it had swiftly driven him off again.

Some rewards just weren’t worth the risk.

“So he’s not human. Does that mean he’s like...?” He lets the question trail off. He doesn’t need to say anything further for them to know who he’s talking about.

“Not quite like Him.” Dick fills in for Jason, “But close enough, and dangerous in his own right. Cobblepot feeds off greed and corruption, and after a hundred years he probably has his hands in every dirty dealing that goes on in the city.”

“Gods…” Jason mutters. It’s like the rabbit hole he’s fallen into just keeps getting deeper and deeper. Then he thinks about what he just said and looks up at Bruce, “Uh…”

Luckily, he only looks amused by the small blasphemy. Probably because Jason didn’t specifically use _his_ name in it. “He’s not the only one. There are others like him too, and their subordinates as well that will need to be dealt with.”

“Subordinates?”

“Their servants. People like you and me, who have sworn allegiance to them and been granted abilities because of it.” Dick tells him. “Each demon or evil god usually has at least one or two hanging off them, running their day to day operations on this plane while their masters concentrate on larger tasks.”

Jason scowls at this news, then looks at Bruce. “They can’t be that tough, right? Shouldn’t you just be able to…” he mimes throwing something, like a spear, “you know, take care of them now you’re free?”

Bruce looks amused again, and Jason worries about the fact that he’s starting to count every small smile he can win from him as a victory. “As I am now, no. You freed me, but I am still not what I once was, Jason. Not with my worship so corrupted and my follower’s belief so weak. This will be a longer, slower battle.”

Being a god sounds a lot more complicated than Jason ever imagined it being. The stories painted them as unstoppable, unknowable, and most of all, _omnipotent_ beings. There was no talk of worship making them weak, or strong, as everything Bruce and Dick together have told him seems to imply. They just _were_.

But then, the more Jason considers it, the more he thinks that if he were a god he wouldn’t go around advertising his weaknesses to mortals either. It was just like being on the streets; people were vultures, and they would eat you if they could.

“All right. So how do we fix that? Do we go after the priesthood, make people start believing in you again?”

He tries not to sound too eager at the prospect of it, but revenge on those who’d tried to kill him and had killed at least a dozen boys before him was one of the conditions he had set to Bruce as part of agreeing to be his servant. If it’s going to happen, then he needs to be there.

“Soon.” Bruce promises him, “But first, you need training. Particularly in regards to your combat skills. You also need to learn more about the creatures and men you’ll be facing.”

“I already know how to—”

“Not in the way necessary for this.” And here Bruce’s voice becomes serious again, becomes dark and looming in a way that shuts Jason up and makes his spine straighten as he pays attention. He’s never heard anything like it from anyone else’s lips before, and doubts he ever will. “The opponents you’ll be facing are infinitely more dangerous than any normal street thug, Jason. And by now they’ll be expecting us. If you go out against them without being fully prepared, they will kill you, and I can’t allow that. I _won’t_ allow it.”

Heat curls in Jason’s stomach for a moment — he knows he isn’t imagining that possessive tone — and prays he isn’t blushing as a result. “Will you teach me?”

“Dick will show you the basics, for the most part.” Bruce says, stirring disappointment in him for a moment before he continues, “But some things I will teach you personally, when you’re ready for them.”

“All right.” Jason swallows, nodding. He doesn’t dare look at Dick in this moment.

“Good. Then we’re done for now. Tonight, I want you to rest some more, then tomorrow your lessons will begin.”

“Sounds fair.” Jason agrees, wondering what he’s supposed to do for the rest of today, or — well, the night, as it were. Then Dick’s hand lights on his shoulder (he didn’t even hear him walk over, which is startling). 

“Come on, Jay,” Dick nudges him, “I’ll show you around the rest of the cave and then to where you can sleep.”

Jason looks at Bruce to see if he’s okay with that, but he’s already focused back on the map rather than at them. It’s as obvious a dismissal as any, he supposes.

*

Despite the way Dick made it sound like some huge task, the ‘tour’ of the cave network barely takes another hour.

Jason follows him from one gloomy room to the next, the crystals and torches lighting up ahead of them again this time — which makes Jason think that Dick must have consciously darkened the tunnel they came down through before just to make a point about the new night vision he apparently possesses. Based off what Jason’s been able to glean about him from their short time together so far, and Dick’s enjoyment of his reaction, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

There are rooms with weapons and armour, as well other strange contraptions and bottles of substances Jason doesn’t recognise and is warned not to touch. The larder and platforms in the central cavern he already knows, and there are more pathways besides to get around them than Jason thinks he’ll ever be able to remember, though Dick assures him it’ll all become second nature soon enough.

There’s also a bath. A pool of hot steaming water Dick invites him to use whenever he feels like it. Jason’s never seen such a large body of water steam like that, and it is tempting to strip off and slid into it there and then, but he shakes his head instead. He’d rather wait until he’s completely alone to partake.

Finally, the tour ends with the bedroom. Not Bruce’s, but one that Jason and Dick are apparently expected to share together.

Even with the furniture inside, it’s large and leaves plenty of room to move between them. The beds themselves are pressed up against the walls, but each is long and wide enough for even the tallest of men to be quite comfortable no matter which way he lies down. Jason touches the mattress of the one that isn’t already covered in discarded clothing and other scattered possessions, finding it just as impossible soft and giving as the bed he’d slept on in Bruce’s room was.

“This is mine?” He still asks, looking up at Dick just to be sure.

“Everything on that side of the room is, Jason.” Dick smiles at him, “I know it’s a bit bare now, but we’ll get you some more belongings soon, I promise.”

“I didn’t mean…” Jason fidgets, plays with the end of the sash around his waist before sitting down. “I don’t need anything else. What’s here is fine. It’s more than enough.”

It’s more than he’s had in a long time. Clothes that aren’t torn and don’t stink, plus a bed of his own with a mattress that isn’t stuffed with straw. Even when he was a child, before his mother grew sick and his father disappeared, he can’t remember ever having such luxury.

“Well a few more changes of clothing at least.” Dick insists, “And you’ll be needing a sturdy pair of boots for the work we’ll be doing.”

Jason tries to remember the last time he wore shoes. It was at least two years ago, and those had been a scavenged pair, already well worn through by their previous owner before they thrown out. “I guess.”

It seems strange for Dick to say that when he’s been walking around barefoot this entire time as well, but when Jason looks at his own feet, studying his toes, he can’t help but frown. Were they that dirty when he woke up in Bruce’s bed, or is the layer of blackness on his soles from walking through the cave only? It’s not a thing he’s ever felt self conscious about before, but now suddenly does. Maybe boots are a good idea after all.

“So…” Dick says, once he’s realised Jason isn’t going to speak any further without prompting. A quiet creak indicates that he’s sitting down on his own bed. “Still feeling okay with all this? Do you need anything, or have any other questions you’d like to ask? My offer’s still open to answer them. It always will be.”

Jason purses his lips. He doesn’t feel particularly hungry or thirsty again yet, so it’s a no so far as his needs are concerned. He does think about asking to be shown back to the bath chamber, but decides against it; there’s no point when he doesn’t have shoes yet. Questions on the other hand…

“I’m fine.” He says to begin. “It’s just a lot to take in. I mean… I always thought I knew Gotham inside and out. Now I find out it’s apparently filled with demons, and,” Jason laughs a little, “The funny thing is, I’m not half as surprised by that as I should be.”

He lifts his head, and Dick’s smiling again, “Penguin?”

“Penguin.” Jason agrees. “I shoulda known something fishy was going on there.”

“You’d be surprised at how good they are at hiding themselves. He’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Dick says, looking amused first by Jason’s comment, then his own. 

Jason’s too proud to ask him about why that is. “And they’re responsible for the way things are. They’re why everything is so…”

“Partly.” Dick agrees. “Gods like Bruce inspire people to be better, to be _good_. But demons and those like them, they do the opposite. They tempt, they corrupt. They make it easier for men listen to their worst impulses and then act on them, but free will is still a part of it. That’s why our job isn’t going to just be about taking down the evil in the city; it’s going to be about encouraging the good too.”

“Sounds a lot more complicated than Bruce throwing lightning bolts at them.”

Dick shakes his head, “Like he said, this isn’t going to be a quick battle, but it will be worthwhile one.” His lips quirk higher, “Also, lightning bolts aren’t really Bruce’s thing. More shadows and darkness. You’d have to look to others to do that for you, little brother, and then he might get jealous.”

“Why do you call me that?” Jason asks, seizing on the opening, whilst ignoring the jealousy comment.

“Hm?”

“Little brother. You’ve been calling me it all day, almost since the moment we met.”

“Oh.” Dick says. He looks caught off guard, like it’s something he hadn’t even thought about up until this moment. “Does it bother you?”

“Don’t know yet. I just want to know why.”

Dick glances down for a moment, then reaches up to the head of his bed, picking up a brightly coloured leather ball from where it’s sitting next to the pillow. He starts to rapidly toss it from one hand to other, not even looking at what he’s doing while he thinks, then talks.

“It just feels natural, I guess. You’re younger than me, but we’re also the same. We both swore ourselves to Bruce — to serve him in all things. That kind of makes us family.”

Jason stares, then raises an eyebrow. “... that’s all it takes for you?”

Dick smiles, “I was born in a circus, remember? In a circus troupe, it’s not blood that makes you family, it’s that you’re united in a common cause. That you work together and you have each other’s backs, no matter what. The same goes for us and Bruce; we’re all in this together, and whether we succeed or fail depends on that.”

Jason shakes his head. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Can’t it?”

“I barely know you. I barely know Bruce, despite what we…” His cheeks bloom red again, but Dick doesn’t smirk or leer at him, just waits patiently and seriously for him to go on. “I’m committed to this, I really am. I have to be. But that doesn’t make us family.”

“Then would you like me to stop?” Though he looks a little crestfallen at Jason’s response, Dick doesn’t hesitate to make the offer again.

Jason purses his lips, then nods.

“All right.” Dick agrees. “I won’t say it again. Not unless you give me permission to.”

“Thank you.”

“Is Jay still okay?” He asks, and Jason nods.

“Yeah, that… that’s fine.”

“Good.” Dick smiles, then drops the ball to his lap before stretching his arms up over his head. Jason is hard pressed not to watch the flex of the muscles in his arms or the graceful arch of his back when he does so. “Because I like it, it’s cute. Suits you.”

Jason definitely doesn’t blush again at that. He plucks at the neatly folded covers on his own bed while he searches for a way to change the subject. “So er… what else do you do around here when you’re not practicing your moves or giving the new kid the tour?”

He doesn’t feel quite tired enough to sleep yet, and all the usual activities he’d fill his day with — running, thieving, _surviving_ — are no longer applicable here.

Dick eases out of his stretch. “Ever play draughts?”

Jason brightens at the name; moreso at the idea of something familiar after days of being faced with the unusual. “Yeah, actually. You got a board?”

“Sure do. And thank the shadows. Bruce only likes chess and those really complicated eastern games, you know? Plus, he’s impossible to win against even if you cheat.” Dick climbs off his bed onto the floor, pushing objects aside until he can reach in underneath and pull out a dusty looking box. Scooching across the floor to the middle of the room, he unfolds the board and takes out the carved wood chips inside before beckoning Jason to move down and join him.

He does just that, crossing his legs and settling himself opposite Dick as the pieces are laid out. “You tried to cheat against a God?”

“Lose enough times, and anyone gets desperate. Plus we had a bet that…” Dick trails off, “Well, uh, nevermind that. You go first. And maybe you can tell me some more about yourself while we play? You’re right that we barely know each other. I’d like to change that.”

Jason hesitates to agree. Bruce, he suspects from the way he spoke to him, already knows everything about his past. Dick on the other hand… “Didn’t Bruce tell you about me?”

“Just a few things, about where you came from and how you ended up here with us.” Dick confesses, “Nothing else though.”

He licks his lips again. Dick did tell him pretty much his entire life story when Jason asked him to, so he guesses he can repay the favour. At least in part. Dick didn’t specify telling him _everything_ , which means he can agree and still keep those parts of his history he’d rather not talk about private if he wants to.

“Okay.”

Reaching down to the board, Jason moves one of the red pieces forwards.

*

They play for at least two hours, during which Jason tells Dick a carefully edited version of his life story. About the part of the city where he was born and grew up, about his father and mother (though he lies about her addiction, calling it a simple sickness instead), and how he ended up on the streets soon after. Surviving at first by sheer luck, then his own wit as he grew more skilled at being a thief.

Dick is a surprisingly good listener, as much as Jason had him pegged earlier as someone who loves to hear himself talk. He lets him speak and asks questions only where appropriate, and doesn’t seem to mind if and when Jason glosses over certain details in answering them.

It’s the most Jason’s ever talked to someone in a long time, and he actually feels disappointed when he yawns for the third time in a row and Dick shakes his head, pulling away the draughtboard to start packing it up. “Time for bed, Jay. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and a lot of ground to cover with your training.”

“Can’t wait.” Jason says, only semi-sarcastically before letting himself be ushered up and into his waiting bed. 

He doesn’t bother to undress, simply because there’s nothing else for him to change into except more of Dick’s borrowed clothes. Instead he watches as Dick touches a hand to the stone wall and the glow of the crystals dims around them — Jason finds then that he has to actually concentrate at first to make whatever magic it is that fuels his night vision kick in, but when it does, he can see every move Dick makes clearly as he strips off his tunic and climbs into his own bed.

Only pulling the covers quickly over his face saves Jason the embarrassment of being caught staring. He replies to Dick’s softly called “Good night.” with only a grunt and wonders how it is that not only is Bruce… well, _Bruce,_ but that Dick is divinely good looking as well.

He feels out of place with them, in more ways than one, but that doesn’t stop him from missing the scent of Bruce’s bed and the feeling of his God’s arms around him as he drifts off to sleep.

Nor does it stop the dreams that follow; memories of that night, twisted into new vivid form by his own imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'll delete this note once it's no longer applicable, but no update next week since I'll be out of the country on holiday. After that we'll be back to normal.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)!


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